The Light in the Dark
by GoingVintage
Summary: It starts with a jail sentence and a burned-out restaurant. It ends with two friends who could become more, a road trip, and the kind of understanding that is sometimes hard to find. Multi-chaptered Puckleberry future fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I'm never saying that I'm leaving fanfiction again because it makes me look like a liar. Really, I have the best of intentions when I say I'm going to stop writing but then I can't resist the pull of Puck and Rachel and they call me back with all their amazingness. However, in the two months since I've done a multi-chaptered story, I've made great progress in developing characters and a story line for my manuscript and am working a lot on it. But the lack of Puck and Puckleberry in season 2, oddly enough, made me love them even more and then this story popped into my brain and yeah… so I'm back with this. I hope you like it.

Story title comes from Ryan Star's "Last Train Home."

* * *

"Noah Puckerman!"

The sound of his name jolted him out of his stupor and he sat up, his feet dangling off the top bunk. He scrubbed his hand over his face, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and hopped down, careful to avoid contact with the cold, dirty concrete floor.

"What?" he yelled loudly, his voice carrying down the long concrete and metal corridor.

" Got a letter for ya. Bring it down in a few," the voice called back.

Sitting in the corner of the same small space, Larry looked at him curiously. "Since when do you get letters, Puckerman?"

Puck shrugged. He hadn't gotten a single letter in the five months he'd been there. "Probably a bill collector. Wouldn't put it past those assholes to hunt me down in here."

Turning toward the small window along the back wall, he squinted his eyes against the sunlight as he looked out. Although he could only see the tops of the trees through his tiny vantage point on the world, he could tell that the wind was blowing and that the sun was baking down on Lima. He closed his eyes against the imagery, practically able to feel the sunlight on his skin and hear the rustle of the wind through the elms that lined the park across the street. He fucking missed that feeling; it had been too damn long.

A few minutes later, a letter was shoved through the bars, thrust in Puck's general direction. It fluttered to the floor and Puck shuffled over, his flip-flops making a distinctive dragging sound against the floor, and snatched it up. Puck sat down in the chair on the other side of the small table from Larry and stared at the handwriting that adorned the front of the bright yellow envelope. It was loopy, feminine, and vaguely familiar. A New York postmark graced one corner but no return address was in the other, leaving the sender a mystery. Flipping it over, Puck ran his fingers along the seal and broke open the letter. After unfolding it roughly, his eyes slid down to the bottom of the letter and then widened in shock when he saw the name that was neatly placed there. Trailing his gaze back up the page, he began to read:

_July 14, 2022_

_Dear Noah,_

_I hope this letter finds you as well as can be expected. I ran into Finn and that's how I learned of your situation. I hope you don't mind my writing you while you're incarcerated. I realize that we haven't actually spoken since graduation and so this letter comes to you after nine years of silence and totally out of the blue. I truly just wanted to let you know that you're in my thoughts and that I'm sorry you're in this predicament._

_Finn mentioned that you were getting out in August after serving a six-month sentence. First of all, I do hope you're receiving proper nutrition. I know that institutions are required to provide their "guests" with well-balanced meals but I'm still concerned about your overall health. I hope you're taking advantage of the exercise programs, as well. And I believe that I don't need to lecture you, at this point, on not only the perils of drunk driving but also the very serious danger you were putting both yourself and Lima's residents in and I do hope that you've learned your lesson. _

Puck stopped reading and scowled at the letter. He hadn't heard from this woman in nine years and she was writing to lecture him _now_? _Fuck. _He knew why he was in that goddamn cell. He was the one who got behind the wheel, completely plastered off his ass and had gotten caught, not once or twice but _three_ fucking times. He was the one who'd had to endure strip searches and shackles and absolute humiliation thanks to his own stupid mistakes.

His mood was quickly turning sour and, brushing aside memories he'd rather forget but knew he never would, he resumed reading.

_I don't presume to know how you got into the situation you're in but I hope that when you're released, you'll be on a path to starting your life over. I've always believed that you had a lot of potential, Noah. I'm not sure what demons keep you from reaching that potential but I do hope that you've had some time to identify those demons while you've been incarcerated and have a plan to turn your life around once you get out. _

_I do think of you, as well as all our former classmates, quite often. I keep in contact with Quinn and Sam and they're both doing well. Their son, Max, just turned two. I know you still talk to Finn, of course, and he told me that you're involved with Santana? I hope that she's been a support to you during this very rough time. _

Puck snorted at that. Santana? Support? _Hell no_. He had barely seen her since he'd been locked up. She was around to fuck when he needed something warm, wet, and willing around his dick and she stayed out of the way when he didn't. That was pretty much the relationship they'd had since they were 15 and, unless one of them got a head injury and decided to get married or become monogamous or some other unlikely shit, it would probably always be that way.

_I, myself, am doing quite well in New York City. I am presently performing in an off-Broadway show that is in talks to move to the Great White Way within the next six months. It's a very difficult, exhausting life but it's also very rewarding. Rubbing elbows with Broadway's elite is what I've been dreaming of and the fact that it is happening speaks to my talent, don't you think?_

_Anyway, I really just wanted to let you know that I've been thinking of you and I wish you well. I hope that you're healthy and determined to get your life together. I don't expect you to write to me but if you should desire to, my return address is below._

_Take care, Noah._

_All the best,_

_Rachel Berry_

"So who's the letter from, man?" Larry prodded when he could tell that Puck had finished reading.

Puck dropped the letter on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. When he looked up at Larry, he had a pained look on his face. "The one that got away. Well, actually, she's the one that never was…but probably coulda been, had I not been such a fuck-up."

Larry snorted. "I think we all got one of those. You gonna write her back?"

Shaking his head, Puck refolded the letter, shoved it in the envelope, and stood up. "Naw. What's the point?" he asked seriously. "She's doing great and it was just a fucking pity letter anyway." Stalking over to his bunk, he slid the letter beneath the pillow and grabbed a magazine. When he flipped it open, he realized that he could barely see the words on the glossy page because he was seething with anger. Why the hell would she write him a letter now? After all these years? And when he was in jail? Did she think he was a fucking charity case?

Jerking the magazine open to the main article about the perils of NFL head injuries, he grunted and forced himself to focus on 300-pound linebackers and not on a 95 pound songstress he hadn't seen in almost a decade. _Who the fuck does she think she is? _

…

Later that night, long after lights out, Puck was lying in his bunk with his arms folded behind his head. As usual, he wasn't even remotely tired but at 10pm every night, the cell lights inside Allen Correctional Institution went out whether the "residents" were ready to sleep or not. Like every other night, he tossed and turned for hours, the springs beneath the thin mattress digging into his back. He flopped over on his side, wincing at the sound of the creaking metal below him, and stared out the tiny 9-inch by 11-inch window. He watched as a few clouds slipped in front of the moon and the longing to be outside those walls made his heart beat more insistently inside his chest. The tops of the trees barely moved and he imagined that outside, it was a warm night. He let his mind drift, picturing himself out at the reservoir with a bottle of JD in one hand and his guitar in the other. But then again, that was the same shit that got him into his current mess in the first place.

Scowling, he stabbed at the lumpy excuse for a pillow below his head and let his mind fall to his mom. Images of the heartbreak and disappointment that twisted her face into a permanent scowl whenever she had time off work to actually make it to the 2-hour visiting hour session on Saturdays always seemed to haunt him. He missed his sister, who was now 19 and in college and didn't have time for her deadbeat brother (and he honestly couldn't blame her.) And then he thought about Finn, who stopped by whenever he was home visiting Burt and Carole. Sure the visits were brief but they were a great way to keep in touch with the outside world and it was always great to see his best friend again. Hell, even Kurt had stopped by once or twice. He'd spent most of the time complaining about the lack of creativity of the jumper Puck was forced to wear but Puck didn't mind because a friend was a fuckin' friend. And then there was Santana, who hadn't visited him in jail since the night he got arrested for the last time and all she did then was sneer at him and remind him what a huge fuck-up he was (like he needed another reminder.)

Puck grunted and pushed his hand under his pillow, slightly startled when his fingers made contact with the envelope he'd shoved under there earlier in the day and subsequently forgot about. He pulled it out and stared at it for a moment before laying it on the concrete sill of his tiny window. Flipping over onto his back, he stared up into the blackness of his cell.

Rachel Berry.

He hadn't seen her since graduation day but his memory of her went back much, much further than that. He'd met her for the first time when they were in kindergarten. Their childhoods were intertwined thanks to the small Jewish community in Lima but it wasn't until high school that they really began to seriously interact and even then, he wasn't proud of how he'd treated her. A constant, bullying presence in her life at first, it had taken Glee club and a bit of growing up to realize that there was more to her than a bossy attitude and huge dreams. And for a week sophomore year, she'd been his girlfriend. It hadn't been a real relationship by any stretch of the imagination but it had set them on a path to a friendly, companionable relationship that lasted right up until graduation. He remembered how happy she was that sunny June afternoon, beaming with joy and going on and on about heading off to Julliard to make a name for herself. All the kids from the Glee club had gathered together at Mr. Schuester's for a party. Puck hadn't wanted to go but Santana had told him, "Listen asshole, if I can put up with these people one last time, so can you." So he'd gone, stayed out of everyone's way, and then left before the singing started (because singing _always _started with that crew.) He spent the summer avoiding everyone, sleeping a lot, cleaning pools, fucking whichever chick he let his eyes linger on earlier in the day, and getting drunk and high. And then all his classmates had headed off to college and he'd stayed right where he was. He was a Lima loser and he knew it. He got a job working at Lima's only gym and had ended up staying there for eight years. He hated the job but they really didn't give a shit if he showed up hung over or even didn't show up at all on some days so he kept coming back right until the second he was thrown into jail.

Puck kicked the thin sheet off his body and closed his eyes. He could still picture Rachel like he had just seen her yesterday and not nine years before. Long hair the color of coffee and expressive, dark eyes, she was captivating in a non-traditional way (meaning she didn't look like the normal chicks he spent his high school years nailing) but he couldn't help but _want _her. But save the week sophomore year he'd had her and lost her because they'd both been too busy wanting what couldn't be theirs, she'd spent all of high school as his best friend's girl. And although he never claimed to be the smartest guy, he'd already made the mistake of going after Finn' girl once so, for the most part, he steered clear of the tiny ball of fire who ruled their Glee club with an iron fist and a set of pipes rivaling Patti LuPone (but, _fuck,_ just 'cause he avoided her didn't mean he didn't have to listen to her.) They'd been friends – just friends – and he'd been totally cool with it. Well, there was that one time, late junior year, when she and Finn were having one of their epically stupid fights and Puck just happened to be her designated shoulder to cry on. He let her sniffle and snot all over his favorite plaid shirt and then, when her eyes were drying and her smile was returning, he kissed her. It came out of nowhere and even now, all those years later, he wasn't sure why he'd done it. It had been soft and way less insistent than his normal approach to scoring. And he'd taken his time, exploring her lips and responding to the slight nuances in the way she tilted her head or pressed her mouth back against his. When they'd parted, she'd turned red and ran off like she'd been spooked. The next day, she returned to school with her hand locked in Finn's and she and Puck never spoke of the kiss again.

Over the years, he'd pretty much forgotten about her. He knew she was doing well in New York City; of course she was. She was Rachel Berry. She was the most talented person he'd ever met. Sure, her many talents made her stick out like a sore thumb, putting a target on her back in high school but he knew that in New York, she'd wow 'em.

For a brief moment, Puck wondered why the hell she'd bothered to write him. It really didn't make any sense. He toyed with the idea of writing her back but then pushed it away again. What was the point? Sighing into the darkness of the miserable cold cell, he rolled onto his side again and forced his eyes closed. There was plenty of time to think about all that shit tomorrow. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, anyway.

…

When Saturday rolled around, Puck was shocked to find out he has a visitor. He already knew his mom had to work so he'd planned on spending the quiet time in his cell (because Larry's wife visited every Saturday) reading. But when he saw Finn sitting behind the glass, grinning at him, Puck felt himself smile for the first time in days.

Picking up the phone that allowed the two of them to speak, Puck asked, "The fuck you doin' here, Hudson?"

Finn shrugged. "Was home visiting so I thought I'd stop by before I head back. How ya doing, by the way?" Finn's eyes shifted from left to right, his discomfort at his surroundings evident.

"Good as can be expected. Shit's a lot easier to deal with because I know I'm getting out in less than a month." Puck paused and then asked, "So what've you been up to?"

"Well, I went to New York City on vacation last month. Haven't been there since Nationals our junior year. I fuckin' love that place."

When Finn mentioned New York, Puck immediately thought of Rachel's letter. He frowned at Finn and said, "Speaking of New York, dude, why the hell did I get a letter from Rachel Berry? I haven't heard from her in years."

Finn leaned back in his chair and grinned. "She said she was going to write you. She flipped her lid when I told her you were in jail and started in on a tangent about whether you were getting proper nutrition and sunlight. Once I assured her that you weren't wasting away, she was really concerned about how you ended up here and where you went wrong, blah blah blah."

"Hmm," Puck said, surprised at Rachel's reaction to his situation. He met Finn's eyes and asked, "Hudson, how the fuck did you run into her in New York City anyway? Not like it's Lima and you just stumble up on people at the grocery store."

"I looked her up, man. We met for coffee and she showed me around. I didn't get to see her for long because she headed off for rehearsal but…I hadn't really talked to her much since we broke up freshman year of college."

"So," Puck prodded, "how'd she look?"

Finn smirked. "Like she used to only somehow hotter. I mean, her body was incredible and she had this short hair that kinda fell around her shoulders. But she looked sad, too, dude. Like, tired and stuff."

"What d'ya mean?"

Finn thought for a moment. "Well, you know how she was always going a mile a minute and never seemed to stop? The Rachel in New York wasn't like that at all. She had dark circles under her eyes and, although she was happy to see me, I could tell she was distracted, like she had shit on her mind."

"Well, the long-ass letter she wrote me basically lecturing my ass for getting thrown in jail sounded _exactly_ like the Rachel I remember."

"I think she's probably just lonely, dude," Finn said. "That city's huge and she's basically all alone."

Puck nodded, tapping his fingers on the worn white table. "Like she doesn't have a million fucking people vying for her attention." Puck rolled his eyes at his friend and added, "Oh, and she said that hopes I've learned my lesson."

Finn paused, pursing his lips for a moment, and then asked, "Well, have you?"

"Fuck you, Hudson. You think I wanna come back this hellhole again?"

Finn shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then changed the subject. "Are you gonna write Rachel back? I think she'd really like to hear from you."

"Nah," Puck shook his head. "Nothing to say really."

Just then, a guard tapped Puck on the shoulder and signaled that his time is up. Finn waved sadly and then hung up the phone. Puck watched him leave, trying to ignore the sadness that overtook at being all alone once again, and then shuffled back to his cell.

Three hours later and just 45-minutes before lights out, Puck found himself sitting across the unsteady table from Larry, writing a response letter in his messy scrawl. He wasn't sure why, but he waited nearly a week to mail it. He knew she wasn't expecting a response anyway. She was probably too damn busy getting famous to really care.

* * *

It had been stirring for a while. As Rachel went about her life, she couldn't help but notice the static that seemed to charge the air around her. It wormed its way into her soul, putting her even more on edge than normal, and made her feel like all it would take was one tiny crack before she broke completely. And as it turned out, it wasn't just one crack (which would have been easier to deal with) but a whole series of tiny little fissures all splintering at roughly the same time that ended up being her undoing.

It was just eight days after she'd mailed the letter to Noah (not that she'd been counting) that a perfect storm built up and crashed down around her shoulders. It all started the moment Rachel pushed open the squeaking door to her apartment at one in the morning and a rush of warm air hit her in the face. "Again?" she asked herself as she stepped inside. When she closed the door, the full effect of the once-again broken air conditioner almost made her nauseous. The small, dark apartment was sweltering. Quickly flipping on the light, she rushed over to the thermostat and looked at it. _86 degrees._

She glanced at the clock and, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, grabbed her phone and called the superintendent's office. When the answering machine picked up, her voice was tight. "This is Rachel Berry in 3F again. My A/C is out and it's miserably hot in here. And don't forget that my fridge is making a strange noise and doesn't seem to be very cold inside. Please rectify these problems in the morning. I'll be home all day. Thank you."

Hanging up the phone, she stomped into the bathroom to pull her hair off her neck. As soon as she turned on the light, one of the light bulbs hanging over the ancient vanity blew with a loud _pop_, causing Rachel to jump. She groaned because light bulbs were her responsibility and not the super's and the last time she'd looked at her checkbook to check the account balance, she didn't even have enough to buy a box of bulbs. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she brushed her shoulder-length hair into a short ponytail. Grabbing a cloth out of the tiny closet, she wetted it under the tap and placed it on the back of her neck, sighing in pleasure as the coldness sent a shock through her body.

Making her way into the living room, she flipped on her small television and dropped onto the worn couch, propping her bare feet up on the table. She stared longingly at her toes, remembering the days when they were manicured and painted in bright hues of red or pink. Now, the nails needed trimming and polishing and, of course, _that _wasn't in her budget, either. Rachel's throat stung with unshed tears and she fought against them, swallowing hard. She grabbed the remote to the tall, columnar fan that was her only relief against the heat and flipped it on, closing her eyes as the breeze rushed past her. And there, with the TV casting a bluish glow inside her miniscule apartment, she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up again, there was sunlight streaming in through the single window in the kitchen and there was a pounding on the door. Jumping up, she dashed over and wrenched it open, smiling when she saw the super standing there, flipping through messages on his phone and looking generally disinterested.

"Fridge and A/C?" he asked.

Rachel nodded, stepping aside to let him in. He was an older man, tall and wiry and with a smell that made Rachel wrench up her nose and long to take a shower of her own. She watched as he went to work first on the ancient, goldenrod-colored refrigerator. When he was satisfied with that, he found his way to her tiny air conditioning unit and fiddled with it. Rachel sat on her couch, casually flipping through an old _People_ magazine while eying him. When her lights flickered and then the unit started humming, the super turned toward her, a satisfied look on his face. "It's fixed for now but we'll have to order you a new one. It's kinda old."

Rachel bit her lip to keep from snorting. "Kinda? You don't say?"

The super ignored her and headed for the door. "We'll call you when we're ready to install the new one." And then he was gone.

Rachel latched the door behind him and turned, making her way into the tiny corner of her studio apartment that was designated as a kitchen. Yanking some soy yogurt from the rapidly cooling fridge, she had just slipped the first spoonful into her mouth when her phone rang.

The moment her hand touched the phone to answer, she was nervous. She couldn't quite figure out why but her hands shook slightly as she answered. And as she listened to the words being said on the other end, her hands shook more and the tears that had been threatening her for days spilled over.

After mumbling an "I understand", she hung up the phone, tossed her yogurt into the trash, and made her way back to the couch.

"Cut," she said to herself. "I've been cut. I can't believe I've been cut! How in the _hell _have I been cut?"

She dropped her small body onto the couch with force and grabbed a pillow, pressing it against her face to absorb the scream that left her body. And when she was done, drained from yelling, the tears slipped down her cheeks with a rush.

_Off-off-off-off Broadway and I've been cut from the show. How does this happen to me? _

But even as she asked herself that question, she already knew how. Since graduating from Juilliard five years earlier, she'd had to fight tooth and nail for every single, tiny role she'd landed. And there hadn't been many of them, that was for sure. She'd never forget the day when her fathers told her that she was going to have to get a regular job to help supplement their monthly support because, while they hadn't minded paying for her college, they couldn't support her all of her adult life. And so, two years before, Rachel had started waitressing. It had nearly killed her to put on that apron and allow herself to be talked down to by rude New Yorkers and wide-eyed tourists but it had paid the bills and kept the tiny, ramshackle roof over her head. And she didn't mind the work, really. She was resilient and strong and she knew she'd have to do what it took to make it. But therein lied the problem – she _wasn't _making it. She had yet to land a starring role and now, with just a phone call, she had no role at all.

Rachel found herself sleeping through most of the day, unwilling to deal with the fact that, when it came to acting, she was back to square one again. And at 5pm that evening, she tossed her apron in her bag and slipped her feet into her worn but comfortable Nikes, forced her stage-smile onto her face, and headed to her shift at the restaurant.

When she turned the corner, she was shocked to see a crowd outside. And then she noticed the big, NYFD truck sitting out front and noticed the smoke. "Oh no," she whimpered, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Rachel!" Debbie, the older woman who managed the kitchen, yelled when she spotted Rachel. She scurried to Rachel's side, gripping her hand tightly, and said, "Grease fire, Rachel. The kitchen was destroyed. Ol' Emanuel didn't service the fire extinguishers even though I told him we needed to so they didn't work and… it's gone. It's just…gone. Between the water damage and the smoke and the actual fire it's just…" Debbie let out a small moan of despair and squeezed Rachel's arm tighter. "I don't know what I'll do. I've worked here for 23 years!"

Rachel nodded dumbly, her mind whirring with concern for her _own _well-being. The restaurant was the only thing that was keeping her afloat and, even then, it had been just barely. The tears showed up again, trickling down her face in absolute frustration. When Debbie let go of her arm to run over and yell at the owner, Emanuel, for his stupidity, Rachel turned and fled.

She didn't stop moving her long legs for three blocks and when she finally did slow her pace, it was only so that she could grab her worn cell phone out of her handbag and call her father. When he answered, Rachel could picture him sitting behind their big, cherry table in the family's formal dining room. "Hi, Daddy," Rachel said quietly.

"Hey, kitten. What's wrong?"

His simple questioned opened a flood gate and suddenly, Rachel was sobbing as she stood in the street, pouring out her entire horrid situation to her father. She ignored the glares from the busy New Yorkers who were trying to get from point A to point B as fast as possible and didn't appreciate a sobbing woman blocking their paths. She ignored the concerned looks from the tourists nearby, who'd been clicking pictures of some stupid, random billboard but stopped long enough to gawk at her.

"Daddy," she wailed when she was finished retelling her tale, "I don't know what to do."

Hiram cleared his throat. "You can come home," he offered.

"What?" Rachel was shocked at the mere suggestion. Leave New York? "No! That's not the answer. It can't be."

A heavy sigh filled Rachel's ear and she flinched. She could practically hear the disappointment in her father's voice. "Baby," he began, "you've struggled for years. And while you were in college, your father and I had no problem supporting you. But you're 27 years old, Rachel. At some point, you have to accept the fact that maybe Broadway and fame isn't in the cards for you."

Rachel let out a stifled sob, the feeling of her life closing in around her almost making her want to hurl the phone at oncoming traffic. "But Daddy," she argued, "you and Dad have always been my biggest cheerleaders. You were the ones that pushed me so hard as a child to be successful. And now you're telling me to give up? I just… I can't imagine what would possess you to say such a thing!"

"Rachel, stop crying," her father ordered. "I'm being realistic. You are now unemployed and with nothing worth a damn on the horizon, I think you should come home. It doesn't have to be permanent…just long enough to reevaluate and see if you want to continue on your current path. If you do, once you have a plan together, your father and I will possibly support you for a while longer. But right now, you need to come home."

Brushing the tears off her cheeks, Rachel nodded. "I'll think about it." After whispering a pained goodbye to her father, she hung up the phone and hailed a cab.

Twenty minutes later, she was entering Central Park off Fifth Avenue. There was still plenty of daylight left so Rachel took careful, measured steps farther into the bowels of the park. Her senses were filled with everything New York: from the sound of the traffic on the streets bordering the park to the smell of the food vendors along the paths to the sounds of people that she never seemed to be able to escape. And she loved it all. She'd moved to New York as a wide-eyed, determined 18-year-old who was ready to take on the world. And she'd done okay at school, landing a few leads in various production workshops. But there'd always been someone _just _as strong vocally or with _just _as much talent or _just _a tiny bit prettier. She'd felt like she was in high school all over again – always wanting things that seemed to be slightly out of reach. At William McKinley High School, she'd never measured up to Quinn Fabray (except for surpassing her vocally, of course). But her post-college audition process had taught her one very painful lesson: New York City was full of Quinn Fabrays.

Rachel stepped out into the grass on the Great Lawn and, once she'd made sure that there was no dog poop around, she dropped into the grass and pulled her knees up to her chest. _Maybe it's time I accept reality, _she told herself. _Maybe it's time I accept the fact that the only person who sees my star potential is me. _

It was a bitter, jagged pill to swallow but it didn't make it any less true. She was now an ex-actress, cut from – if she was completely honest with herself – one of the worst shows in the history of theater. And now, she couldn't even claim her profession to be waitressing since her restaurant sat smoldering. As much as Rachel hated it, the answers she sought were staring her in the face. Even though the idea of going home to Lima, a town she couldn't wait to be free of, was painful, she knew it was her only option. She wasn't living; she merely existed. And it had to stop.

Once she'd accepted her fate, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of New York City. A month from now, it may be the only memories of the city that she had left.

…

Her fathers were delighted with her decision and immediately booked her a flight to Columbus. She was soon busy with the task of packing up her belongings and selling her old, second-hand furniture. She let her couch go for $20 to the glassy-eyed potheads that lived below her. The small, cramped day bed that had served as her respite from exhaustion sold for $50 to the elderly woman in 6F who'd always wanted "a charming little bed in which I can sit, read Bronte, and sip hot tea." Everything that wasn't personal mementos or of value was donated to the local women's shelter. In less than a week, her apartment was empty, a sign in Rachel's eyes of yet another soul beat into submission by the unforgiving nature of the city.

On her last day in New York City, when she was so downtrodden and melancholy that she felt like the weight of the world was going to pound her into nothing more than a grease spot on the concrete, she checked her mail for the last time. Other than the credit card bill that she couldn't pay and a flyer for a new all-you-can-eat buffet, the only other thing in her tiny sliver of a mailbox was a small, white envelope. She pulled it out and saw "Allen Correctional Institution" in messy scrawl on the top left corner of the envelope.

_Noah._

Rachel wanted to rip the letter open and read it right then but she had a plane to catch so she shoved the letter down into the bowels of her purse and ran upstairs to do a final walk-through of her apartment. As she checked the drawers and cabinets for the last time, her mind travelled to a jail cell in Lima. Even then, she still didn't know what had possessed to write her old classmate/former foe/former boyfriend but once Finn had told her of Noah's plight, she'd felt compelled to so. She'd had an inkling that he had to be lonely cooped up in jail and if he was even half as lonely as she felt most of the time, she knew a letter of any kind (as long as it was positive) would lift his spirits. As she made one last sweep of the 350 square feet she'd called home for five years, she refused to allow herself to cry. Her mind on the letter waiting to be read and not on her heartbreak, she grabbed her suitcase, left the mailbox key on the kitchen countertop, and locked the door behind her.

Once she was inside the cab that would take her to LaGuardia and away from her failure of a life, she pulled the envelope from her purse and opened it.

_July 21, 2022_

_Rachel,_

_Can't say I wasn't shocked to hear from you. I mean, it's been nine years and what feels like a lifetime of fucking up since I heard from you last. But I can honestly tell you that it was a nice distraction from this shithole so for that, I say thanks._

_I'm sure Finn told you all about why I'm here but for the short story from me, let's just say that I've got a drinking problem and I know it. I also have a problem with getting caught driving while drunk (which won't be a problem now because my license is suspended anyway). I get out of jail on August 13__th__ and I'm counting the days. No, I don't have shit to do once I get out of here but I'm going crazy behind these fucking bars and I can promise you that I don't ever want to land my ass back here again._

_But enough about me. That's awesome that you're doing so well in New York. I always knew you'd take New York by storm. There just wasn't any way you couldn't, ya know? You were always too much for a small town like Lima to handle. _

_Anyway, you can write back if you feel like it. Oh, and since I'm getting out soon, I put my email address at the bottom. I'm going to be living with my mom again (like a big fucking loser) until I get on my feet. _

_Take care, Rachel. _

_And thanks again._

_NP_

Rachel read the letter twice, her vision blurring when she got to the part about being such a big New York success. Bitter regret seized her for putting that lie in the letter she'd sent to him but at the time, it had seemed like the thing to do. Now, though, the words stung and his assessment of living with his mother like "a loser" burned deep inside her as she faced the same situation. When the tears sprung to her eyes again, she folded the letter carefully and placed it back inside her purse. And then she looked out the window, tears collecting on her lashes, as she said a silent goodbye to the city she loved with all her heart but that had never loved her back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the reviews and kind messages I got for the first chapter. Glad you enjoyed the set up to the story. The beginning three chapters set up the rest of it.

* * *

In the grand tradition of shitty Puckerman luck, it was pouring down rain the day he got out of jail. Thunder rumbled across the dark skies over Lima as Puck stomped through puddles to climb into his mom's car.

Inside, the heat from the defogger made it stifling hot. Puck shot a glowering look at his mother, who rolled her eyes and flipped off the heater. "Did you get all your stuff?" she questioned.

"Yup. I transferred the rest of the money on the books for me over to Larry so that he can get some extra shit in the commissary."

Maggie Puckerman maneuvered the car into traffic as she nodded her head. "That was nice of you. I'm sure he appreciates it."

"Considering a pack of cigarettes is $9, he's probably pretty fucking happy about it." Puck's eyes drifted to the front windshield, his gaze focusing on the large splatters of rainwater that were quickly batted away by the wipers of his mom's Volvo. It felt weird, almost dizzying, to be inside a moving vehicle after six solid months of being trapped behind bars and concrete blocks.

His mother's voice cut in through the silence. "I have to head to work in a few. Are you going to be okay at home?"

Shrugging, Puck nodded. "Sure, why not? I feel like I need to sleep for about three days. I don't think I've actually slept worth a damn since I went to that godforsaken place. Besides, I can't drive anywhere. Don't have a job anymore and I sure as shit can't get anywhere without a car."

Maggie pursed her lips, looking sadly over at her son. "Honey, I know things are frustrating now but…" she paused to pat him on the leg. "But it'll get better. Now that you're out of jail, things are going to turn around."

Puck let out a snort and shook his head, his tone disbelieving. "Whatever you say, Ma."

Mother and son were quiet for the rest of the short drive back to the tiny, white house that Puck had called home for all but the last few years of his life. His car, sleek and sporty and with a gleaming black paint job, sat in the driveway and Puck stared at it, a look of longing on his face, as his mom pulled her car to a stop.

"I'm working a double, okay? So find some food and get situated. Most of the boxes from your apartment are piled up inside your bedroom so you'll have unpacking to keep you busy."

Puck nodded, not in the mood to deal with the remnants of his life that his mother had been forced to throw into boxes and move back to her home after he'd been sent to jail. His apartment on the other side of Lima had been a shithole, yeah, but it had been _his _shithole. And now he was back at home like a big fucking loser.

Climbing out of the car, he gave his mom a sad wave and then watched her disappear down the street before going inside the house. And even though he hated the idea of moving home, it was still a great feeling to _be _home. The whole house smelled like the cinnamon potpourri his mom kept simmering whenever she was home and the carpet felt plush and inviting, even through the sole of his shoes.

_Fuck, _he missed being home.

Once he was in his bedroom, he kicked his shoes off and grabbed the cordless phone by his bed. Dialing quickly, he smiled when he heard the voice on the other end. "I'm out and I'm home. Bring some JD and be here in 30 minutes."

…

An hour and a half later, Puck was lying side-by-side next to a naked and flushed Santana. He had his arm thrown over his forehead as his heart still pounded in his chest. Santana let out a sigh and then a snicker. "Jesus, Puckerman…that was _fast_. Felt like you were 15 all over again."

Puck slid his arm from his face to shoot Santana a glare. "Fuck you, Lopez. It's been six goddamn months since I've even got a whiff of pussy. What'd you expect? _Six fucking months_. Couldn't even jerk off in jail so shut the hell up. Not like I won't be ready to go again in about three more minutes." Puck pushed himself up, reaching around Santana to snag the already half-empty bottle of amber liquid from the bedside table. He took a swig and sighed at the burn that raced down his throat. He'd already had enough to drink that his mind was becoming fuzzy and, _fuck, _had he missed that feeling.

Santana took the bottle from his hands and took a sip of her own before recapping it, dropping it into the crumpled sheets, and turning toward him again. "So what're you gonna do now, Puck?"

Puck shrugged. "Fuck if I know. I have an appointment with my probation officer on Thursday. I guess I need to get a job and try to get my shit together."

Santana eyed the bottle that they'd been passing back and forth. "You giving up the booze?"

"Fuck, no," Puck snorted. "I'm gonna try to control it a little better but am I going cold turkey? Hell no." Puck picked up the bottle again, took the cap off, and took a long swig. After he capped it, he sat it on the table and then grabbed Santana and slid her beneath him. She groaned when she felt his hardness in between her thighs and let out a slight grunt when he pushed into her body again. Thanks to the numbing effect of the alcohol, he lasted longer the second time around and was spared Santana's ridicule. But as soon as he was spent, he pulled out of her, wiped his dick against the sheets, and guzzled more of the JD. Then he tucked an arm behind his head and watched as Santana slipped her bra and panties back on.

"Glad you're out, Puck," she said as she pulled her pants up her legs and re-buttoned them.

Puck nodded, his brain slowly disconnecting as the alcohol coursed through him.

"Call me?" Santana asked.

"Sure will, babe," he said with a slur. He took another drink as Santana pulled on her top and then barely acknowledged her as she left. Less than an hour later, he succumbed to the alcohol and passed out completely.

…

The next afternoon, Puck was sitting on the couch in the living room playing a video game when he was jolted by the sound of pounding on the front door. After pausing the game, he jumped up and ran over, jerking the door open. "Oh, shit," he said out loud as soon as he laid eyes on the visitor.

"You just gonna stand there like a moron or you gonna let me in?" The woman snapped, her shrill, tinny voice making his head hurt. Puck took in her short, hunched over frame and was about to say something when she whacked him in the leg with her cane. "Noah, move and let me in!"

"Nana Connie," Puck stammered, "I…uh…I didn't expect to see you anytime soon."

Puck's maternal grandmother let out a frustrated snort as she made her way through the house. "Of course you didn't. But your mom is too busy at work _and _she's too close to the situation to properly lecture your ass so that's why I'm here to do it. And then, when we're done having our chat, you're going to agree to go to Temple with me tonight, aren't you?"

His mouth fell open and then he smirked. _Goddamn_ she was annoying but he loved the old bat. Ignoring her squeak of protest, Puck hugged her against his chest for a moment before she wiggled free from his grasp and sat down on the couch. Puck dropped into the chair diagonal from her and they stared at one another for a heartbeat's length before she asked, "So, Noah, are you done screwing up yet?"

"Uh…maybe," he answered. Seriously, he wasn't prepared for a lecture from this tiny, bossy woman just _yet. _He wasn't nearly sober enough to handle it, either.

When her cane snapped him on the leg, Puck swore and glared at her. Nana Connie glared right back, looking every bit of her 81 years of age. "Wrong answer. I've just about had it with alcoholics and I will not let you, my _favorite _grandson, go down the same path as your father."

Puck snorted. "I'm your only grandson, Nana."

"Hardly the point." Connie patted her hands over her tight, short, white curls and then shot Puck a fierce look. "The point is, boy, that you're 27 years old and, ever since you were 13, you've been giving your poor mother fits. If you weren't stealing things you were impregnating bitchy Gentile girls or wrecking cars or doing God knows what else that you've actually managed to keep hidden. And I wanted to talk to you about all this but your mom would never let me but now, I think she's ready. She wants you to clean up, Noah. So does Sarah. We _all _do."

Puck slumped in his chair. "I want to, too, Nana. I _do. _But it's so fucking hard to not pick up that bottle."

"Of course it is, which is why you probably got drunk off your ass and passed out last night, right?" She stared at him, watching the guilt creep across his face, and then said, "I thought so, but you need listen to me. I haven't lived 81 years not to learn a few damn things and the least you can do is sit on your drunken ass and listen to what I have to say. You're young and you have time to get on the right path. Your father, the louse that he was, never got it together. He's probably rotting in a gutter now, considering no one has heard from him in fifteen years. But the thing you don't know is that my dear husband, Abe, was an alcoholic for decades."

Puck sat up in his chair, his eyes showing astonishment as he focused on his grandmother. "Grandpa Abe was an alcoholic. I never knew that."

Connie shook her head. "Of course you didn't. By the time you were born, he'd been sober for ten years. But let me tell you, trying to raise your mother in a house with a raging drunk was not easy. And of course, your mother ended up marrying a man with the same problems and I had to sit by and watch history repeat itself." Connie paused, taking a deep breath, and then met her grandson's eyes. "Noah, I don't want to have to watch your mother cry anymore over the fact that you continue to disappoint her."

Puck scrunched up his face at her words. He _knew _he was a disappointment. Shit, he'd been nothing but a disappointment almost since he was born but hearing it from his Nana's mouth? Fucking hurt.

"Now, I know it's difficult to hear that but it needs said. I'm always going to be proud of you because I love you but it's time for you to take control of your life. Figure out what it is that makes you drink, Noah."

"I like the way it feels, Nana," he said.

Connie shook her head vigorously. "That's not what I mean and you _know_ it. There are things deep inside you, way down deep, that eat away at you. Those are the things that make you pick up that bottle and drink until you can't feel anything anymore. That's what you have to deal with. And until you do, you're going to repeat this cycle."

Images of a pregnant blond, a tiny baby, angry friends, wrecked cars, a crying mother, and a faded, ghostly face of a man he hadn't seen in years all flashed before him. He swallowed hard, focusing on the wrinkles on his grandmother's face to force the thoughts from his head. "I hear you, Nana, I do," he finally said.

Connie smiled and tapped his foot with her cane. "Good. Now that you're hearing me, maybe you'll listen for once. Straighten your ass up, Puckerman. Don't make me have to tell you again."

Puck stared at his grandmother, unsure of how to answer. Her lips curled into a smile and she ordered, "Now get in that kitchen and make me a sandwich. Then we'll sit here and chat about your stupid cousin, Maureen, for a bit. I'm sure you haven't heard what a mess she's gotten herself into, right?"

"Nope…can't say I'm up on all the family news."

Connie grinned. "Well, I'll have a pastrami with Swiss cheese. Then steal me one of your mother's Diet Cokes and we'll talk until we need to leave for for services, okay?"

The determination in his grandmother's voice was all he needed. "Yes, ma'am," he said quickly. As he disappeared into the kitchen, he failed to see the satisfied and proud look on his grandmother's face.

…

Puck's eyes were drawn to the peeling, yellowing paint barely clinging to the wall inside the waiting area of the probation office late on Thursday afternoon. The room was cramped and he was surrounded by other dudes who all looked as miserable as he did.

"Noah Puckerman?" the receptionist called into the room. Puck shot out of the rusty, metal chair and followed the woman down a dank hallway. "Go right in. She's expecting you."

Puck nodded at the woman, young and cute, and watched the curves of her ass as she departed. Then he turned, stepping into the office. Behind the desk, his probation officer stared at him through her glasses before looking down at a stack of papers inside a manila folder at what he assumed was his file. In her mid-fifties, her hair was pulled away from her face in a tight bun and it gave her a fierce, uncompromising look. "Puckerman, have a seat."

Puck plopped down in the cracked leather chair, bouncing his knee the second he sat down.

"I'm Officer Barnard, Mr. Puckerman. You and I will get to be good friends over the next year."

Nodding, Puck stayed silent. Officer Barnard slid her glasses from her face and gave Puck a smile that softened her features considerably. "I know things have gotten bad for you, Mr. Puckerman. But now that you're out of jail, what you need to do is honestly pretty simple. You're prohibited from driving for another six months due to a suspended license. You're also prohibited from consuming any alcohol."

Puck screwed up his face and the officer leaned forward. "You survived six months in jail without alcohol, didn't you?"

Now, Puck knew the truthful answer was "no." And he knew that _she _also knew about the rampant alcohol use in jail. Puck had been introduced to jailhouse hooch – made from sugar, yeast, and fermented fruit juice – not long after he'd arrived. The shit was awful, fermented in old two-liter bottles hidden away from the prying eyes of authorities by the cellblock's trustee, but it helped keep the shakes away. And he'd figured that if that was the only way he'd get alcohol for six months, he was gonna take it . Officer Barnard eyed him for a moment and he quickly answered her question, saying, "Yes, ma'am. I did."

She seemed pleased with his answer. "Okay, then. You should probably think about getting into an alcohol treatment program like Alcoholics Anonymous or something similar. It's not court-mandated but it's going to help you stay clean. We need to get you on a permanent path to sobriety and make sure you don't have to return to jail."

Puck nodded, taking in her words. Sobriety would be nice but he didn't need "help" to get there. Hell, no. He was gonna get sober but he'd be damned if he went to some church basement and sat around in little chairs, sobbing over all his fuck-ups. No, he'd figure out a way to get sober all on his own.

"I'm going to need you to report in every two weeks. You don't have to physically show your face but I expect at least a phone call every other Wednesday. The receptionist will set you up with a schedule on your way out." She slid her glasses back on. "Now, Mr. Puckerman, if you miss two check-in appointments in a row, a bench warrant will be issued for your arrest so whatever you do and wherever you are, _please _be sure to take the time to check in with me, okay?"

"Okay," Puck parroted.

Officer Barnard smiled again and extended her hand for Puck to shake. "You're going to do well, Mr. Puckerman. I can feel it."

Puck almost laughed at her optimism. It reminded him of someone… Someone who he thought would have written him back before he got out of jail but hadn't. Shaking away the thought, Puck stood up.

"So, I'm not, like, chained to Lima, right? If I wanna leave town, I can?"

"Absolutely, you can. You're free to leave the state even. Just check in with me is all I ask."

"Not a problem," he assured her.

With a final nod, she dismissed him and he left her office, stopping by the receptionist desk to pick up his reporting schedule from the hot receptionist. Glancing down at the 26 appointments that would dictate part of his schedule, he noticed a post-it note attached to the paper with a phone number and "call me" scrawled at the bottom. He ticked his eyebrow at the receptionist who smiled, blushed, and then looked away. Puck shook his head, a smirk crossing his face. He could do this recovery shit.

* * *

Rachel hated her bedroom. She hated it with a passion. As she pulled on a big, baggy t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, she frowned at the happy, yellow walls that surrounded her. Her bedroom had gone completely unchanged in the years since she'd packed her bags and moved to New York City. The framed playbills stared out of the glass at her and she almost felt like they were mocking her, the names of successful Broadway actors splashed across the fronts. More than once in the days since she'd been home, she considered jerking the things off the wall and tossing them into her white, ornately decorated trashcan. She could almost imagine how cathartic it would feel to hear the clinking of the glass as it shattered on impact.

But it was more than just the playbills that irked her and she knew it. Her bedroom was the sanctuary of a young, innocent girl who thought she was going to move to New York City and amaze the world with her superb singing voice and acting talents. And now, even though the walls were still reminiscent of sunny, misguided optimism, it felt more like a cell than a sanctuary. And the inhabitant was now a woman who knew that the girl that had lived here before had been a ridiculous dolt. Wide-eyed, naïve, and stupid, even. And although Rachel had only been home for a short while and didn't intend on staying for too long, she contemplated stopping by Lowe's to pick up some paint; maybe a deep, dark taupe color or something more reflective of her present mental state. Cheery, happy yellow did nothing but turn her stomach.

Once she was dressed, she slid her feet into a pair of flip-flops and then started down the stairs. Her father, Hiram, sat at the table, his laptop open and papers spread out all over. He grinned at Rachel when she walked into the room and then immediately turned his attention back to his work.

"Your father went out to pick up some dinner if you're interested." He looked up again, sorting through a stack of papers, and then handed a glossy pamphlet in the direction of his daughter. Rachel took it, her eyes scanning over the words "Ohio State University Graduate Programs."

"I don't want this," Rachel said quickly, thrusting it back toward her father. When he didn't take it from her, she let it flutter to the table.

Hiram frowned, sliding his glasses off his nose to pinch the bridge before putting them back on. "Kitten, you need to think about it. It's time to consider it at least."

"Daddy," Rachel argued, the tension climbing up her spine quickly and settling at the base of her neck, "I have only been home for a few days. Can't you at least give me a few more to get settled and collect my thoughts before you and Dad start shoving what _you _want for me down my throat without any regard to what _I_ may actually desire?"

"I think you need to start seriously considering your options, Rachel. That's all. And it's never too soon to start contemplating the next steps of your life. We're not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do but after five years of disappointment in New York City, you've had plenty of time to accept that you're meant to do something else."

Tears burned behind Rachel's eyes. "Thanks for calling me a failure, Daddy." Rachel stomped out of the room, grabbing her purse and the set of keys to the extra car. "I'm going out," she snarled.

Slamming the door behind her, she angrily swiped at a tear as she darted across the yard and pulled open the car door. As soon as she was inside, she grabbed her phone and dialed a number quickly.

"Quinn," she asked as soon as the call had been answered, "Do you care if I come by?"

…

Quinn pulled Rachel into a hug the moment she opened the door. "Come on in! I'm just getting Max up from his nap and Sam just got home from work."

Rachel followed Quinn into the house and, noticing the neat, nearly white carpet, Rachel kicked her shoes off by the door out of respect. Quinn smiled at her over her shoulder and said, "Give me two minutes. I'm going to go get the baby. Have a seat."

When Quinn disappeared, Rachel sat down on the couch, adjusting the soft fabric of her pants against her thighs. When she looked up, Sam was coming through the door of the living room, a can of soda in hand. A huge smile broke out across his face when he saw his old classmate.

"Rachel Berry. Never thought I'd see you sitting in my living room."

Rachel grinned, hopping up quickly to let herself be wrapped in a hug. When she pulled away, she smoothed her hands across Sam's shoulders and then gripped them, meeting his eyes. "It's so great to see you, Sam. You look wonderful."

"Hi, Daddy," Quinn said from the doorway. "Look who decided to wake up."

Sam and Rachel both turned and watched as Quinn stepped into the room with a little boy in her arms. He had whitish-blond hair, brown eyes, and a big smile on his face directed at his father. Sam took the boy easily and then pointed toward Rachel. "Max, this is Rachel. Can you say hello?"

Max stared at Rachel for a moment and then shoved his thumb into his mouth and started sucking, his eyes still lingering on her. Rachel found herself smiling. He was an adorable child who looked like the perfect combination of mother and father.

"Quinn, if you want, I'll leave Max in here with you and Rachel and go finish dinner while you two catch up."

Rachel followed the family back over to the sitting area and, when Quinn sat down on the floor next to a stack of toys and books, Rachel joined her. Sam placed Max gently on the carpet, bent to kiss the top of his wife's head, and then disappeared.

"So," Quinn asked excitedly, turning her attention to her friend as her son tottered over and sat down in her lap, "how long have you been back?"

Rachel sighed. "Just a little bit over a week. A miserably long week."

"You don't sound happy in the least," Quinn observed.

Rachel leaned back on her hands, watching as Max toddled away from his mom again and over to his toys. "It's hard coming home, Quinn. Especially…" Rachel's voice faltered. "Especially when all I have to show after 9 years in New York City is a useless degree from Juilliard, a stack of unpaid bills that I'm not sure when I'll get paid or if I'll _ever _even be able to pay them, and two very disappointed fathers."

Quinn watched Max pick up one of his soft storybooks and toss it into the air, laughing when it landed on the carpet with a quiet thud. Smiling at her son, she asked Rachel, "Do you have a plan yet?"

Rachel shook her head. "No. And you know that not having a plan is absolutely terrifying for me, right?"

"Enormously so." Quinn smiled and put her hand on Rachel's arm. "But it's okay to not have everything planned out, Rachel. Sometimes you just have to get up in the morning, take a deep breath, and realize that life is going to happen whether you planned on it or not."

Rachel eyed her friend. "It sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Oh, I am. If there's anything I learned from having a baby as a teenager, besides the huge importance of abstinence and even proper contraceptive methods, of course, was that life is going to throw things at us whether we're ready for them or not. And believe me, after I married Sam and we had two miscarriages in a row, I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and die. I was convinced that God was punishing me for what happened between Puck and I."

Rachel's mind flew to Noah, whom she knew was out of jail by now. She'd meant to write to him after she had received his letter but the fact that she had no idea what to say had stopped her. She'd even gone as far as typing in his email address but then she'd stared at the screen, her cursor blinking inside the empty message box, until she closed it. How did she recover from the lies she'd told him?

Focusing back on Quinn, Rachel listened as she said, "But then I got pregnant again and kept expecting for this pregnancy to go wrong, too. But it never did and then, Max was born and he was beautiful and perfect."

The little boy stopped what he was doing, looking up to grin when he heard his name. Rachel couldn't help but smile at his infectious grin. His eyes sparkled and then he dove for one of his favorite red and blue balls, dropping to the floor to grab at it. Rachel let out a laugh and Max crawled over to her, the ball in one hand. Dropping it into her lap, he said, "Play? Roll ball?"

Rachel nodded, watching as his diaper-covered behind sat down on the carpet. He spread his jean-clad legs and Rachel rolled the ball gently toward him. He grabbed at it and roughly tossed it back to her, laughing when it bounced off the coffee table.

"He's so gorgeous, Quinn," Rachel commented.

"Thank you," Quinn said, pride in her voice. "He really is. And since he's been around, he's taught me that no amount of parenting books or planning is going to prepare me for nights when he has a very high fever or he won't stop screaming or he's in a bad mood. I've learned that I just have to go with it or I'll lose my mind."

Rachel nudged the ball toward Max again and looked up at Quinn. "And you're saying that I need to relax and let life happen around me? But how, Quinn? How? I've always, always planned out every aspect of my life. Granted, I wanted to be married by the time I was 25 and have a Tony by the time I was 28 but when those things didn't happen, I simply reevaluated my goals and moved them back. But they were never, ever off the table. And now…" Rachel paused, a far away look in her eyes. "But now, it' like the table is bare, empty. And I have nothing. Nowhere to be, nothing to do. And my fathers are already trying to shove graduate school down my throat." Rachel's voice caught and she swallowed. "Quinn, I don't want to go to graduate school. I was born to perform. It's what I _have _to do."

Quinn's eyes fell on her son, who was now distracted by his father's huge remote and had already forgotten about the game of ball with Rachel. He pressed random buttons, annoyed when the TV didn't respond, and then tossed it to the carpet before lunging after a stuffed pig. "Who said New York is where you're supposed to be, Rachel? Yes, I know you want to be on Broadway but what's most important? Performing _for _the hopes of winning an award or performing for _you_? And if you just want to perform for you, you can do that anywhere, can't you?"

Rachel found herself nodding because her friend was right. "I hadn't really approached it from that angle, Quinn, but you're really correct."

"It's something to think about, at least."

"Ladies," Sam said from the doorway. "I hate to interrupt but dinner is ready."

Quinn stood, bending to pick up Max. Turning toward Rachel, she said, "Join us, Rach. I've got some great gossip on Mr. Schuester that I _know _you haven't heard."

Rachel pushed herself off the floor and stood. When she walked into the kitchen and Sam threw his arm around her and hugged her to him for a moment before letting go, Rachel smiled a genuine smile. For the first time since her arrival, it hadn't felt so bad to be home. And once dinner was through and she'd been filled up on all the gossip concerning her old choir director and many of their old friends, she excused herself and stepped out into the sunlight.

The sounds from the park across the street attracted her and she walked away from her car, instead traipsing across the concrete and into Lima's small park. Kids yelled and parents chattered as a warm August breeze moved through Rachel's hair. Before she could help herself, she dropped down onto a bench and closed her eyes, letting out a heavy breath.

_I can do this, _she told herself.

* * *

Puck left the probation office and walked slowly down Lima's main street. The paperwork he'd collected was folded up and shoved into his back pocket and his mind was already on whether he was going to do the right thing and walk past the liquor store without going inside or if he was going to stop and stock up on cheap vodka. When he turned the corner, he was on the sidewalk parallel to the city's park. There were kids playing loudly, exuberant about enjoying one of their last few days of summer before school started next week. Mothers were yelling, fathers looked bored, and dogs were barking. And there, sitting on a bench with her legs tucked beneath her, was a very familiar looking woman.

Puck paused, wondering if he was in the middle of a hallucination despite the fact that he hadn't had a drink in two days, because this woman was supposed to be in New York City and not sitting on a rusting bench in Lima, Ohio. After glancing to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, Puck darted across the street. She hadn't seen him and didn't look up from staring at her cell phone screen and as he drew closer, he realized that _yes, _this was definitely Rachel Berry.

When he got to the edge of the bench, he stopped. She was as tiny as he remembered. Her hair was shorter now and Finn had been right, she looked tired. But her body was tight and curvy and, despite the fact that there were bags under her eyes, she was still as incredible as she always had been. His body cast a shadow over her as he smirked and crossed his arms, blocking her from the sunlight. When she noticed his shadow, she looked up. Puck watched as her face went from annoyed to shock. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew before she said, "Noah? _Noah_!"

"Hey, Rachel… I thought you were in New York City. What the fuck're you doing here?"

Rachel's mouth opened and a tiny sound came out before she snapped it closed again. Then she shook her head and met his eyes. His hair was longer than she'd ever seen it, slightly curled at the ends and completely devoid of the ridiculous mohawk he'd insisted on having for most of their high school career. He was still very muscular and imposing – that hadn't changed. In fact, he was just as handsome as he'd been when he was 18. But the lines around his eyes and across his forehead told Rachel everything she needed to know about how he'd been doing since she'd seen him last. Rachel forced a smile onto her face, drew herself away from appreciating his physical presence, and said, "It's a long story."

Puck smiled and nudged her over with his knee before sitting down. "Considering I just got out of jail, I don't have shit to do. Got all the time in the world. So what's up? Why're you here?"

And with her words carefully chosen, Rachel began to present _her_ version of the facts about whey she'd returned to Lima.

* * *

**Next up:** Puck and Rachel spend more time together and Puck makes a very attractive, albeit crazy, suggestion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I honestly intended to have this chapter done and posted three days ago. But this week has been filled with an escaped dog that was found again (after a near-panic attack and_ a lot_ of tears on my part), fence repairs to ensure that said dog does not go for another unsupervised "tour" of the neighborhood, and even a lovely case of identity theft that left me swearing at the bank for an hour. So anyway, sorry for the delay!

* * *

The "facts" about Rachel's sudden return to Lima flowed so effortlessly from her lips that she found herself wondering again why she was such a paramount failure at her Broadway endeavors. And she felt completely satisfied with every word she uttered until Puck said, "You know I know that whole story you just told me is pure bullshit, right?"

"Excuse me?" Rachel sputtered, forcing indignation into her voice while hoping that he didn't notice how uncomfortable she was.

Puck smirked, leaning back against the bench and throwing his arm behind Rachel. "S'bullshit and I'm gonna tell ya why."

"Oh, please _do _elaborate."

Puck kicked his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. His relaxed nature made Rachel envious as she sat ramrod straight, knees pressed together, breath hitching in her throat due to the fact that she was about to potentially be called out on her lies.

"So here's the thing," Puck began, "if your show _just_ closed to move to Broadway, your ass would be in New York doing interviews and photo shoots and all that shit."

"Well," Rachel argued, "who's to say that I won't be returning in a few weeks to start doing all that things then? Moving a show is a very arduous process and it's not done overnight, you know."

Puck rolled his eyes and looked at her. "Look, Rachel, I may not've seen you in fucking forever but I haven't forgotten how you are. Sure, you seem a little more relaxed than you used to be but there is _no fucking way _that if you were about to be in a _Broadway _musical, you'd be in this shit town, hanging out on a goddamn bench dressed like a slob instead of rehearsing around the clock and driving everybody within a two-mile radius insane."

Rachel looked down at her baggy shirt and yoga pants and felt her blush return. "I don't look like a slob! I'm comfortable, Noah! That's a really rude thing for you to say to someone you haven't spoken to since you were 18 years old!"

Appearing disinterested in her protests, Puck just shot her a bored look. "You're the one that wrote me that letter telling me what a huge fucking success you were so, the way I see it, you pretty much invited this on yourself."

Rachel shifted in her seat and glanced at Puck. "So how are you doing since you got out?"

"Fine, I guess. On probation, suspended license, not supposed to drink, all that shit. And don't try to change the subject, Rachel. D'you get fired? Fuck the director?" With a leering smile on his face, he added, "Fuck the director's wife, maybe?"

"Noah!" Rachel shrieked. "I did nothing of the sort! I am highly professional, thank you very much, and would never dream of mixing business with pleasure in such a blatantly disrespectful manner! I can't believe you would even insinu…" Rachel let her words trail off when she saw the satisfied smirk on his face. He was baiting her.

Rachel nudged him with her shoulder and then she said, "Okay…so maybe there are other reasons, extenuating circumstances if you will, that have forced me home but…" She looked away, her eyes glassy. "But I'm still processing it all."

"Got it… so you don't want to tell me the truth. Fine. Whatever. Your fuckin' loss. Trying to lend an ear here."

Rachel let the conversation hang in the air between them for a minute before she said, "Things just didn't work out as planned, Noah. But I'm resilient and I'm going to bounce back." She turned toward him, locking her eyes with his, and gave him a shining smile. "I always bounce back."

Puck raised his eyebrows at her, his mouth opening. He didn't believe her. Even though her smile gleamed like a spotlight, those dark, heavy bags under her eyes were very telling. And those eyes… The emptiness he saw in them nearly made him shudder. The Rachel he remembered had eyes that sparkled. This woman seemed like a shell of the girl he knew.

Shifting because his foot was falling asleep, Puck glanced down at his watch. "I've gotta get going, Rachel. Ma's waiting on me by now, I'm sure. And she's gonna want to hear all about the probation officer's meeting. Fucking sucks to be back at home with my mom." Puck sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I wish I could fucking leave this town and never come back."

Rachel found herself nodding along with him. "I got out once…never thought I'd be back here again."

"Sucks, don't it?"

"I just don't belong here, Noah. I didn't when I was 18 and I really, truly don't now that I'm nearly 28."

Puck grunted in acknowledgment before he stood up and Rachel's eyes followed him. "Are you walking? My car is just across the street at Quinn and Sam's. I can drive you if you'd like."

Rachel watched as Puck's eyes shot across the street in the direction of the Evans' home. His eyes became cloudy and he looked away, his eyes downcast. "Uh, sure, Rachel. That'd be great."

They walked in silence across the street and Rachel watched Puck out of the corner of her eye. She could tell, from the tenseness of his shoulders to the quick way in which he slid inside her car as soon as she unlocked the doors, that he was uncomfortable. When she climbed in and started the engine, she saw his eyes jerk upward toward Quinn's home for the briefest of moments before he looked away again. But once she backed out of the driveway and headed down the street and away from the home that housed a woman that was very much a part of his past that he couldn't forget, his posture relaxed.

A few minutes later, Rachel was stopping at the curb outside of Puck's house. Before he turned to thank Rachel for the ride, he noticed that his mom's car still wasn't in the driveway. Shrugging, he pushed open the door and then turned toward Rachel. "S'good to see you, Rachel. Since we're both stuck in this shitty town again, we should…you know…hang?"

Rachel smiled and nodded. "I'd like that, Noah. I'd really enjoy that."

She watched Puck slide from the car and then he put two fingers to his forehead and saluted her as she drove away. She waggled her fingers at him and then sped down the street. Between visiting with Sam and Quinn and then running into Noah, she felt slightly better.

* * *

When Puck unlocked the door and stepped inside, the house was dark. He flipped on the lamp by the door and then made his way into the kitchen to find some food. Passing the fridge, Puck noticed a note on bright pink paper taped to it. Yanking it off and ignoring the magnet that went flying across the room, Puck read:

_Noah, your sister called and needed me to run something to campus for her. I'll be back in a few hours. I want to hear all about your visit to the probation office. Love you, hon._

_Mom_

Puck wadded the note up and tossed it on the bar, not bothering to retrieve it once it slid across the smooth surface and fell to the floor. After grabbing a can of Dr. Pepper and a slice of cheese from the fridge, he wandered around the house, trying to find something to occupy him. He finally sat down on the couch and stared at the TV before glancing down at the remote and then back up at the TV while he quickly downed the single slice of American cheese. He took another drink of his soda and scowled at the way it went down his throat. It felt weak…ineffective. He needed _more_.

Standing back up, Puck dropped his soda into the trashcan on his way out to the garage. While the old door creaked and groaned as it opened, dust swirled up around him. Years ago, long after Puck's father had disappeared, the Puckerman garage had become a storage unit of sorts. Sarah's old cradle sat in one corner, long-since dismantled and covered in spider webs. There was a box labeled "Halloween costumes" that Puck knew was filled with the various scary masks and plastic weapons that he had worn when trick-or-treating his way through the neighborhood with Finn in tow. Of course, Finn was dressed like a superhero. Every single Halloween, Finn _always _dressed like a superhero.

Puck pushed through a small opening between one of Nana Connie's old, discarded tables and a love seat that was so old that Puck thought he might have actually been conceived on it. Looking around, he spotted a box of his old G.I. Joe action figures and Sarah's hideous Barbie mansion. And there, lodged between the tool bench and a plastic tub, was the object of his search: his old bicycle.

It took Puck a few minutes to dig through years of refuse and memories to finally reach the old bike. Wheeling it out, he noticed that the tires were slightly cracked but could probably still hold air. It took a few more minutes of rummaging around to finally find his ancient air pump. But soon, the tires were nice and firm and the handles and seat had been dusted off. Puck swung his leg over it and began to pedal down the driveway, wobbling slightly since it had been so many years since he'd been on it. With a sideway, slightly forlorn glance at his shiny black car, he pedaled down the street toward his destination 11 blocks away.

Two hours later, when Maggie finally got home from Columbus and found her son heavily intoxicated and on his way to passing out, she turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. She wasn't staying in that house with a drunk. She'd already lived that life once – the violence and anger and hurtful words - and wasn't about to relive it again.

* * *

The next afternoon, Rachel was sitting in the middle of her bedroom floor, her eyes clenched. Soft music filtered out of the speakers attached to her computer and she was breathing deeply and evenly. While she wasn't a heavy meditator, the tense feeling at the base of her neck wouldn't dissolve and was starting to climb up to the crown of her head and across her shoulders. Never one to any type of pill that wasn't natural for fear of what it could do to her body, or worse, to her voice, she didn't like to take pain medicine, even though it would probably alleviate her tension. So there she sat, her eyes closed tightly to block out the glaringly yellow walls, when she heard, "Rachel, can you come in here?"

Her dad's voice wafted up the stairs and distracted Rachel from concentrating. Scowling, she pushed herself off the floor and hurried down the stairs, tucking her hair behind her ear as she went.

"Yes, Dad?"

"Honey, I wanted to let you know that I landed you a job today. You start on Monday."

Rachel stared at her father, her mouth going slack from shock. "Job? What job?"

Leroy Berry looked pleased with himself. "My client, Darcy Angelino? She owns 'Second Time Treasures' down on Walnut. She dropped off her retail sales receipts today and happened to mention that she has an opening. I told her you were looking for a job and she said it's yours."

"Excuse me? You committed me to employment without even asking me? Isn't that the junk store?" Rachel's voice rose as she spoke, anger beginning to flare deep inside her. The dull ache at the back of her neck started to throb and Rachel twisted her head first to the left and then to the right, hoping to stave off the strangling feeling that seemed to radiate from that center point of pain.

"It's a second-hand store, honey. It's not junk. You're all about recycling and repurposing, right? That is exactly what the store does!" Leroy argued, tossing a concerned glance toward his husband.

"Daddy!" Rachel argued. "Please tell him that he can't just 'get' me a job when I didn't want one?"

Hiram sighed heavily. "Honey, you _need_ to work. You still have leftover bills from New York City coming in. The money we put in your back account a few months ago is nearly gone. There's less than $600 in there now. It just makes sense for you to begin working. It's the quickest way for you to get back on your feet."

Frustration nearly overwhelmed Rachel. Her heart rate picked up and she felt her face go red. "It's ridiculous. You either want me to go to graduate school or work in a menial job selling used junk to cheapskates. What about what I want?" She ignored the crack in her voice and glared at her fathers.

"Kitten, you've had five years to do what you want and it didn't work out. Your father and I are merely trying to help you find a new path."

"I don't _want_ a new path," Rachel seethed defiantly despite the fact that her throat felt thick with tears. "I want to get back on my feet and get back to New York. I don't _need _you two deciding my life's path for me any more than you already have. You're the ones that groomed me to be a performer. You're the ones that encouraged me to go after what I wanted. I did all those things and now you want me to give it all up? I am the person I am and the performer that I am _because _of you and—" Her words were cut short when she felt a sob threaten to escape her lips. Turning quickly, Rachel bolted back up the stairs and slammed the door with a loud and angry "hmph." She hated feeling like a helpless child but thanks to her fathers, that's exactly how she felt.

…

Later that day, Rachel was lying on her bed, her headphones sealed tightly around her ears to lock out the sound of her fathers knocking on her door. She felt her bed vibrate slightly and looked down to see that her cell phone was ringing. The number was local but she didn't recognize it right off.

"Hello?" she asked, tossing the headphones on the bed.

"Rachel?"

Rachel's face eased into a smile. "Noah, how are you?"

She heard him snort on the other end. "You don't even really want the answer to that question, do you?"

Laughing, Rachel stretched out on her bed. "If you're the same as the other day, I'll pass."

Puck sighed into the phone. "Your shit going any better?"

Rachel's eyes prickled with the memory of the fight she'd just had. "No," she admitted. "If anything, it's worse."

"You wanna get outta there for a while? Maybe meet me at the pizza joint around the corner from my house?"

At the mention of food, Rachel's stomach began growling. Due to protesting the Machiavellian actions of her fathers, Rachel had opted to skip dinner. "That would be fabulous, Noah. I'll see you in 15 minutes."

…

Less than an hour later, Rachel was daintily dipping a crusty breadstick in marinara sauce and laughing as Puck tried to decide what he wanted on his pizza. Looking over his menu, he glanced at Rachel. "Wait…how are you gonna eat this shit? It's got milk in it."

Rachel shook her head. "I had to give up total veganism when the budget got a little tighter, Noah. It's so hard to live that lifestyle when there's approximately $10 a week in the budget for food. I still refuse to eat meat, though. And I limit my dairy intake as much as possible by drinking soymilk instead of cow's milk." Rachel tapped the last of her breadstick on the edge of the little plastic dipping cup and then popped it into her mouth. After chewing, she added, "I also stay away from cheeses that are high in fat. And I will never, ever _knowingly _eat an egg of any kind." Rachel shuddered and Puck nodded solemnly, both of them remembering the egging incident in high school that had scarred Rachel for life and had made Puck want to bust a few more faces than normal.

"So what you're saying is that you'll eat mozzarella cheese on pizza?" Puck's lips were pinched as he tried to suppress a grin.

"Basically," Rachel agreed with a laugh.

Puck glanced back down at the menu and then closed it just as the waitress was approaching. "We'll have a large pizza with all the vegetables except for olives." Looking at Rachel, he asked, "You want anything else?"

Rachel shook her head and the waitress took their menus and disappeared to put in their order. "Are you sure you don't want meat on your pizza, Noah?"

Puck said, "Nah, veggie is fine," before grabbing a breadstick from the basket. After shaking a thick layer of processed Parmesan cheese onto it, he messily swiped it through the marinara, sending a chunk of tomato slopping out onto the table. He shoved at it with his hand and it streaked across the smooth surface before dropping off onto the floor and Rachel screwed up her face. "You're disgusting."

Puck just grinned and took a bite of the bread while he looked at Rachel. "So, what's going on with your dads?"

Rachel let out a huge, breathy exhale that sent her bangs fluttering in the breeze and then she rolled her eyes. "I don't even know where to begin, Noah. They just want to control my life and I'm exhausted. No, things in New York didn't turn out exactly like I anticipated but that doesn't mean I'm ready to make a 180 and head in another direction."

Puck looked at Rachel thoughtfully. "So you ready to tell me all about what _did _happen in New York, Rach?"

"No, not yet," Rachel said. And, if she were honest with herself, she would actually _love_ to talk to him about it. At least then, she'd have an outside opinion other than her fathers, who were disappointed in her, and Quinn, who was too busy trying to make her feel better to really allow her to vent all her frustrations. Rachel even knew that it would probably be _so easy _to tell him of all of the rejections, cancelled auditions, and missed opportunities she'd encountered along the very rocky and dark path to stardom. She knew he wouldn't judge her, of course. But voicing her failures to one of the people who was sure she'd take New York by storm was just too hard.

"It won't kill you to tell me what happened," Puck told her honestly. "I mean, I know I was kinda an asshole back then and…well, _shit, _I'm probably still an asshole but I _am_ capable of adult conversation."

"I know, Noah, and I appreciate it. When I've made sense of it all, you'll hear all of it, I promise." She flashed him a smile and Puck let out a laugh, saying, "I have no doubt that's true."

Puck was quiet for a moment and then he said, "We should get the fuck out of here."

Rachel glanced around the restaurant. "But Noah, the food's not even here yet."

"No," Puck groaned, exasperated. "Not _here, _pizza joint but _here, _fucking Lima!"

"That's what I'm trying to _do, _Noah. Getting the hell out of this town is on the top of my list."

"I mean, let's pack up our shit, toss it in the car, and just drive."

Rachel eyed him curiously. "Where would we go?"

"Does it really fucking matter? You're about to start working in the biggest shit store in Lima and I—"

Rachel cut him off, interjecting with, "There's no way I'm going to work in that store, Noah. _No way_."

Puck held up his hand to quiet her. "S'not the point. The point _is_ that Lima sucks ass and we're both fucking stuck here unless we do something about it. So let's _do _something about it. Pack our shit and go. Hop on I-70 and just drive."

"With no destination in mind? That would be irresponsible…and even reckless, Noah."

Quirking his eyebrow up at her, he said, "I know, babe, that's the point."

Rachel laughed at him, dismissing the idea because she knew he wasn't really serious. But as the waitress sat their hot pizza down in front of them, Rachel admitted to herself that the idea was at least appealing. Leaving Lima for _anywhere _else sounded like the greatest idea she'd heard since she arrived home.

* * *

Puck's head was pounding from the after-effects of his latest bender when his mother angrily pushed open the front door. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and blanched because her eyes were blazing. She moved quickly into the living room and spotted a bottle of vodka sitting next to Puck on the couch. Before he could even pause the video game he'd been playing, she jerked it away from him, unscrewed the top, and stormed outside to dump it out.

He stared, slack-jawed, when she stomped back into the living room and tossed the now-empty bottled at him, wincing when it bounced off his chest.

"I'm tired of this, Noah. When I came home last night, you were passed out on the floor in here. _On the floor._" Maggie began to pace around the room, her voice rising when she barked, "You know what got you into this trouble and even why you went to jail. You know what your probation officer told you about drinking. And yet here you are, freeloading in _my _house and continuing to drink? I can't…" Maggie stopped and stared pointedly at him while her eyes filled with tears. "I can't live like this and if you don't stop drinking, I want…I want you gone. _Out_ of my house."

Puck's mouth fell open and his instincts were to immediately lash back but when the tears rolled down his mother's cheeks, he lost the fight inside him and just stared at her. "I know, Mom. I know. I fucking _know _what I'm doing every damn time I pick up that bottle. And I fight it… I _do. _But I always lose."

Maggie wiped the tear from her cheek with the collar of her shirt and met her son's pained eyes. "You're a strong man, Noah. You've always been strong. You have the power to fight this, you just don't want to. And I can't fight this battle for you but I refuse, _refuse _to sit by and watch you drink yourself to death. So you have a choice: stop drinking completely and get help or get the hell out of my house."

Before he could answer, Maggie turned on her heel and fled out of the room. Puck sat, slowly slumping back into the cushions of the couch, and stared at the paused video game on the screen. Now what the fuck was he gonna do?

* * *

Rachel knew better go to go the grocery store when she was hungry. So with the smell of fresh-baked bread lingering in the air and a growling stomach, she moved quickly through the aisles, tossing fresh vegetables, whole grain bread, and a box of oat bran into her cart. She was standing in front of the dairy section, weighing the options of either vanilla or chocolate soymilk, when she heard her name called.

"Wow! Rachel Berry! I can't believe you're here in town!"

Glancing around, Rachel's eyes fell to a smile that she would never forget. Her former choir director stood a few feet away with a massive grin on his face, his eyes wide at the shock of seeing his former student.

Rachel felt dread pool in the pit of her stomach because she knew of the inevitable questioning that would come next. But ever the actress (even an unemployed one), she went into "star" mode and returned his grin with one of her own. "Mr. Schuester! It's wonderful to see you! How are you?"

Will Schuester stepped closer, pulling his cart up alongside Rachel's. "I'm doing great, just great. School just started so I'm still mentally preparing myself to for the school year." Will paused and let his eyes roam over Rachel's face. "Wow. It's really just awesome to see you here. How's New York? Are you home visiting?"

Rachel paused, her eyes searching for some form of escape. Seeing no way out that wasn't horrendously rude, she forced her gaze back on that of her teacher and pushed forward. "I'm home for a little while. I'm going to be returning to New York soon."

"Are you in between shows right now? I haven't heard anything about you for a few years but I assume you're on Broadway, right? And you did graduate from Juilliard, of course."

"I… I'm doing… I mean I've done off-Broadway work for the last few years, actually." Rachel's voice was strained, her mind frantically searching for a way to transition the conversation away from herself. "So, how's the glee club doing?"

Will beamed. "Fantastic. We're up to 28 kids! Can you believe it? Ever since you guys took nationals your senior year, we've been incredibly lucky to continue to get some very talented students." He paused and then snapped his fingers. "That gives me an idea! Why don't you stop by my class next week and talk to the students? They _all _know about the legendary Rachel Berry. You're the best singer to ever come through McKinley and they'd _love _to hear all about your New York escapades and what it's like to be on Broadway!"

Will's words and the idea of coming back to her old choir room, where her dreams were huge and the idea that they might not come true completely unheard of, sent daggers of pain through her stomach. She flinched against the misery and bit her lower lip, smiling weakly. "I'll…I'll see what I can do, Mr. Schue."

Placing his hand on Rachel's shoulder, Will said, "That would be great. I think the kids would really be impressed! When you decide you want to come, just call the school and ask for me….I've got to be going, Rachel. I look forward to your visit, though!"

Rachel watched her former teacher leave, her stomach feeling heavy and painful. Then, quickly hurrying down the aisle, she paid for her purchases and retreated with one thought repeating in her head: _there's no way in hell I'm doing that. _

* * *

Puck's eyes drifted open before closing again. In the distance, he heard the thumping of a fist against the front door. Groaning, he pushed himself up and climbed out of bed. He advanced down the stairs and jerked open the door , lazily raking his nails across his abdomen.

Rachel was standing on his front porch, her mouth open as she stared at him. Puck looked down, realized he was standing in his boxers, and shrugged. "What's up, Rach? It's early."

Rachel shook her head and walked past him and into his house. When she turned, she was wide eyed. "Okay, fine…we'll go, Noah."

"Go?" Puck cocked his head and looked at her. "The fuck you mean, 'we'll go'? Go where?"

"Go!" Rachel threw her hand up in the air, motioning towards outside. "Leave Lima! You know, like you suggested the other night?" She turned on the ball of her foot and paced across the living room before storming back toward him. "I can't stay here anymore, Noah. My parents are going to suffocate me. This _town _is going to suffocate me. So if you were serious about going, I'm completely supportive of the idea now."

Puck's confused look transformed into a smile and he pumped his fist as he gazed at Rachel. But before he could say anything, she stuck her finger up to shush him and said, "But only on one condition."

"And that would be?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"No drinking. You can't have a single drink on this trip because I refuse to be around you when you're inebriated."

Puck's triumphant gaze faltered for a moment. Not a single drink for God only knew how long? That was going to be really hard.

Rachel watched the emotion play over his face and met his eyes determinedly. "That's the stipulation, Puckerman. Take it or leave it."

Her eyes were blazing and Puck could tell that she wasn't fucking kidding around. And even though the thought of not drinking nearly killed him, he was pretty sure staying in Lima was going to kill him, too. The vision of his angry, tear-ridden mother flashed through his mind. And then he thought of his equally as disappointed Nana and realized that, if he didn't make _some _kind of change, his mom was going to toss him out on his ass anyway. Finally, he shrugged. "You've got a deal, Rachel."

Rachel beamed at him. "Perfect. I'll go home and pack. We leave tomorrow."

Puck let out a snort and said, "That's fine but I gotta ask… where are we going, exactly?"

Rachel paused and then lifted her chin defiantly. "I don't care. Away from here. Why don't we head west?"

"Hmm…like, Illinois or something?"

Rachel shook her head. "No! Think grander! Like Colorado! Or Arizona! We could go see the Grand Canyon! I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Or we could even go Utah!"

Puck scowled. "The fuck would we do in Utah? What's even _in _Utah, anyway?"

Rachel ignored him and clarified, "It doesn't matter _where _we go, Noah. Let's just go. Away from our troubles for a while. Doesn't it sound _fantastic_?" Her voice squeaked with happiness and he felt himself smile right along with her.

"Anything is better than staying here. I'm pissing off my mom and I just… I'm tired of being a fu—" Cutting himself off, he took a breath. "I'm just tired."

Nodding, Rachel gripped Puck's forearm. "So let's head west, Noah. As much as it terrifies me to say this, let's not settle on a destination yet. Or even a timetable. I just… I need to get out before I drown."

Puck was familiar with that feeling. Drowning in disappointment. Drowning in frustration. Drowning in booze. He felt just as stifled as Rachel did. Barely bobbing his head, he met Rachel's eyes and smiled. "We'll leave tomorrow."

* * *

**Next up:** Puck and Rachel hit the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Again, life delays updates! But I'm posting this and then I'm out the door on my way to a Phil Vassar concert. I apologize for not getting to review replies with the last chapter. I will hopefully get back on track with this one. Please excuse errors. I've read through and edited this thing so many times that I'm now blind to mistakes. I apologize!

* * *

The shrill ring of his phone roused Puck from a deep sleep. He groaned into his pillow, annoyed by whoever the fuck would be calling him so early in the morning. Rolling away from the sound, he pulled the blankets over his head until it stopped ringing. When his room was quiet again, he sighed and kicked the covers back since the room was warm. He started to drift off once again when the phone began its annoying, demanding ringing again. Swearing, he felt around on the side table without opening his eyes until his fingers stumbled over his phone. Snagging it, he shoved it up to his ear.

"'Lo?" he grunted.

"Noah? Good morning! It's Rachel. Are you ready to go?"

"It's the middle of the fucking night," Puck barked.

Rachel laughed softly into the phone and Puck rolled onto his back, picturing her with a huge stack of suitcases by her side. "It's almost 7am. We need to get moving. Have you packed your car? We're driving your car, right? I mean, I can borrow Daddy's car if I need to but I would prefer not to. I barely got them to relax after I told them about our trip. And I—"

Puck cut Rachel off. "If I tell you that I can be ready by 9, will you shut up? It's too fucking early."

Rachel huffed into the phone and then said, "Yes, I'll just fill you in on the way. I'll see you in exactly two hours, Noah!"

When Rachel hung up seconds later, Puck tossed his phone down and pushed himself upright. After scrubbing his hand over his face, he stood up and padded toward the bathroom. He knew he'd better get moving because if he wasn't packed when Rachel got there, she'd probably barge into his room and pack for him.

…

Thirty minutes later, Puck was sitting down to breakfast with his mother. Maggie looked over her coffee mug at him, a surprised look on her face because her son rarely ever joined her for breakfast, before she sat her own mug down and got up to get him one. When the cup was full and steaming, she sat it down in front of him.

"Thanks, Ma," Puck said, taking a sip of the acrid liquid, the burn in his throat forcing him more awake.

Maggie studied him as he scraped some eggs from the bowl onto his plate and then grabbed a bagel.

"What?" he finally asked her once he got tired of her inquisitive stare.

"Why, again, are you going on this trip of yours?" she asked after a moment of pause.

"You don't want me to lay around and drink, right?" he argued as he chewed on his toast.

His mom looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head. "No, that's not ideal. I think you need to get a job, not go on a road trip."

Puck leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Look, Ma, Rachel and I need this. We've both… we've got shit going on and getting out of Lima for a few days would be good for both of us."

Maggie perked up, her eyes widening as she questioned, "You're going on the trip with Rachel? Rachel _who_? Rachel Berry, that nice, Jewish girl from your high school? I had heard she was back in town."

"Yeah, Ma, _that_ Rachel," Puck said, nearly groaning at the sparkle in his mother's eye.

"She was always such a wonderful girl. Why is she back in Lima? I thought she was doing well in New York?"

Puck snorted. "So did I. No idea why she's back. She's not talking yet. But she's depressed and her fathers are driving her fucking nuts and so we're going to just get away for a few days. It's nothing serious." Puck watched the please look on his mother's face and shook his head. "And get that look out of your eye, too. Damn…nothing going on there, Ma, I _swear_."

Maggie just clucked in his direction and pushed away from the table, disappearing down the hall. A few minutes later, she re-emerged and shoved a Folgers's coffee can into Puck's hands.

"I want you to have this." Dropping a kiss against his cheek, she said, "Be careful, take your cell phone, and have a good time. I'm going to go take a shower and then head out."

Puck watched his mom disappear into her room and then he went upstairs to pack. Once he was standing in his bedroom staring at his clothes, he decided that packing for a trip when he had no idea where the fuck they'd actually end up was kinda easy. Because they were heading west and it was August, he tossed some shorts, a few pairs of jeans, a bunch of tees and sleeveless shirts, and some socks and underwear in a bag and called it done.

After making sure he had everything, he threw his duffel bag over his shoulder, grabbed his phone and his charger, and headed down the steps. Halfway down, though, he stopped and turned around. Once he was back in his room, he shoved his hand under his mattress and his fingers curled around the slim neckline of his last remaining bottle of vodka. When he pulled it out, he was relieved to see that it was still ¾ of the way full. Quickly pushing it down inside his duffel bag, he headed out of the room, down the stairs, and outside. Sliding his sunglasses on to stave off a headache from the glaring sun, he sat down on the stoop and pried the top off the can his mother had given him. It was full of hundreds of coins and quite a few paper bills, all tossed inside haphazardly. Puck began to sort and count the money and when he was done counting nearly 40 minutes later, he had $327.82.

Puck stood up and dashed inside. He found his mom slipping on her shoes in the living room.

"Ma, this is a lot of money. You sure you wanna give it to me?"

Maggie nodded and stood, reaching up to hug her son. As she patted him on the back, she said, "You're lost, Noah. I want you to find your way. If going with Rachel on some wild, unplanned trip will help then so be it. I want to help in any way I can." Pulling back, she braced her hands on his shoulders. "Just do not, I repeat _do not _spend my money on booze. Got it?"

Puck bobbed his head dutifully. He wasn't sure how much money Rachel had for this trip but he was bringing along his last $400. It was all the money he had left after paying court costs and having to break his lease when he got tossed in jail. But this money from his Ma? It would help a lot. "I won't, I promise."

Satisfied, Maggie dropped her hands and grabbed her purse. "I'm heading off for a day with the girls. Be safe, honey, and call me when you get somewhere, okay?"

"I will."

Puck walked his mom outside and as she climbed into her car, she called, "I love you, honey."

Nodding, Puck said, "me too."

After Maggie had driven away, Puck trudged into the garage and rooted around until he found the old tub that kept his ancient camping gear. Once it was dusted off, he opened it up and double-checked that everything was still in decent enough shape. He had no idea where they were going or where they'd be sleeping so, he figured, he might as well take sleeping bags and lanterns and a tent and shit just in case. He hadn't spent a year and a half in Boy Scouts (before he got kicked out for shoving a cherry bomb down the pack leader's toilet) to not learn how important it was to "be prepared."

Glancing at the clock on his phone, Puck was glad to see it was nearly 9am. He was ready to go and as soon as Rachel got there, they could finally get the hell out of town. Bored, he pulled open his car door and began removing all the junk that had been left over from the last time he'd driven it, six long months ago. He stopped collecting old McDonald's wrappers and Dr. Pepper cans for a moment to wonder what in the hell he was actually doing. He and Rachel hadn't actually been "friends" in years. Two letters and a few conversations hardly constituted a friendship. But honestly, he'd always liked her (once he stopped bullying her and actually got to know her) and she was a cool chick to be around. She was high strung and annoying but she was also passionate and interesting, not to mention gorgeous. So really, it didn't seem like it would be _that_ bad. And the alternative – staying in Lima – seemed like a shit awful idea. Even if they were only gone for a week or two, it was that much less time they were stuck in town. Hell, they might even have fun.

A car slowed to a stop in front of Puck's house and he watched as Rachel climbed out. She was in a pair of pink capri pants, a white top, and a pair of pink flats and Puck thought she looked more like she had when she was 17 instead of her current age of 27. Her body, however, had changed slightly over the years. With hips that were more filled out and breasts that were slightly larger, there was _no _pretending that Rachel was the teenaged girl he'd once dated very briefly and then had spent the next couple of years trying to tempt into cheating on her various boyfriends with him at every opportunity (it had never worked, even when he'd given it his best effort. She'd been, like, the _one_ girl at McKinley who'd been immune to his charms and it'd pissed him off to no end.) After Rachel kissed her father and waved goodbye, she bent over to pick up her bags and Puck's eyes zeroed in on the cleavage she was showing off. No, the Rachel Berry he was dealing with now was very much _all_ woman.

Once she had the handles in her hands and a huge grin on her face, she asked, "Are you ready?"

"'Course I am. Waiting on you," Puck answered as he took Rachel's bags from her and put them in the trunk.

"I wanted to be here sooner, you know," Rachel began as she walked around Puck's car, her eyes studying the tires. "But I had to convince Dad and Daddy to let me use the rest of my money for the trip. They were argumentative, of course, but I think I finally got them to understand that I just needed to get away. Sure, it's an outlandish idea, going on a road trip with a man I've only seen a few times after a decade apart but still, I think they gave in. Once I reminded them for nearly the 100th time that I'm practically 30, they finally relented. So here I am!" Rachel turned toward Puck, her inspection of his car complete, and smiled.

"Well, let's go!" Puck urged. He yanked his keys from his pocket and was nearly at the driver's side door when Rachel stepped in front of him, plucking the keys from his hand. "The fuck, Rach?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Your license is suspended, Noah. I'm not having you re-arrested before we're even out of Lima. You get shotgun."

Puck didn't move out of her way so Rachel smoothed past him, squeezing between his body and the door of the car. When she jerked it open, it hit him in the side. Puck grunted in response and finally moved, scowling all the way around to the passenger side. "Can't even drive my own fucking car," he pouted under his breath as he slid inside.

Rachel glowered at him before starting the car. She carefully adjusted the mirrors, tilting the rear view mirror first forward and then slightly back, scowling as she glanced up at it again and again.

"What are you doing?" Puck snapped, clearly already annoyed.

"I've never driven this car before, Noah, so I obviously need to familiarize myself with it before we leave." Rachel adjusted the mirror one last time and then secured her seatbelt. After fiddling with the cooling system and adjusting the vents until she was satisfied, she asked, "Are there any blind spots I need to be aware of?"

Puck let out a frustrated groan and said, "Rach, remember how I said you seemed more relaxed than you used to be? Well, I was fucking wrong. Just drive the goddamn car."

Rachel huffed loudly but then put the car into reverse and slowly eased the car out of the driveway and onto the street. Puck gave his mom's house one last glance before sliding his sunglasses over his eyes and easing the seat back slightly. "So where're we going?"

Slowing the car at a stoplight, Rachel grinned at Puck. "I took the liberty of gathering driving directions for possible destinations for us. Once we figure out where, exactly, we want to go, we can just plug our destination into the GPS and we'll have no trouble."

Puck smirked. "So no idea where we're headed?"

"Not yet, no," Rachel said as she eased the car onto the interstate ramp and began to pick up speed. "We're hitting I-70 West and, when it starts to get dark, I assume we'll find a place to stop."

"Oh, about that," Puck said, "how much money do you have? I've got a little over $700 thanks to some money Ma gave me this morning and a credit card that has about enough leeway on it to get us a hotel room for a night or two."

"I have around $550." Rachel chewed her lip, her eyes focused straight ahead as she eased the car onto the interstate. "That amount of money isn't going to get us very far, Noah. Not with gas, food, and lodging."

"Well, I packed my camping gear. Tent, sleeping bags, I got it all. We can always camp and, hell, if we have to, we can sleep in the backseat of the car at a rest stop."

Rachel let out a horrified gasp and shook her head. "No, no, no, Noah. _No_ rest stops. Those are frequented by murders and rapists and general reprobates. Do you know, once I watched this expose where an officer went undercover at one of those and he recorded 29 illegal activities occurring over the course of one eight-hour night? 29, Noah! That's horrendous!"

Puck snickered at the appalled look on Rachel's face. "We have less than $1300, Rachel. If we don't get creative, we'll be back in Lima inside of a week. Is that what you want?"

"No, definitely not," Rachel conceded.

"Fine," Puck said smugly. "Then we'll have to be cheap as fuck."

Rachel slumped slightly and bobbed her head. "Agreed. Just don't risk our safety, okay?"

"Deal," Puck promised, shaking his head. She really wasn't any less uptight than she'd used to be. His earlier assessment of her had obviously been wrong.

Reaching into his pocket, Puck pulled out his iPod and shoved in his earphones. Rachel opened her mouth like she wanted to say something but then closed it again, reaching to slide one of her CDs into the player. Puck turned his music up to drown out the sound of the caterwauling that was now streaming from the speakers of his car and wondered, momentarily, if this was going to be a long trip.

* * *

After a quick stop at a sandwich shop outside of Indianapolis for lunch, Rachel and Puck continued along I-70. Less than 20 minutes after climbing back into the car, Puck was already asleep. His even breathing was interrupted ever so often with a loud snort-like snore and a few random words that made Rachel giggle and bite her lip to keep from waking him up.

As she drove, she hummed softly with the radio, which she'd turned down as to not disturb her passenger. She loved driving. She hadn't gotten to do it the last few years because living in New York certainly didn't require owning a vehicle. But she found the hum of the tires and the passing scenery to be relaxing. And with Noah sleeping, it gave her time to think. She thought about how she'd ended up where she was and then, her mind inevitably went to the man sleeping next to her.

Rachel cast a sideways glance at him and noticed that his eyes were slowly opening and then drifting closed again. She almost felt sorry for him because he seemed so…exhausted. It wasn't physical exhaustion, she knew, but purely emotional. And the fact that she could relate so very much made her heart clench. There was a reason she'd felt compelled to write him a letter while he was in jail. And it was the same reason she felt that going on this trip with him would be a good idea: they both shared a sad reality. She had known, even back in high school, that Puck hadn't led an easy life. With divorced parents and an absentee father, he'd had a lot of obstacles to overcome. And those obstacles had just been the tip of the iceberg for him. It was easy to see, she assessed, that he obviously hadn't overcome them, either. A six-month stay in jail was proof of that fact. But even when the world seemed to press upon her like it had done recently, Rachel always found a way to be confident about certain aspects of her life. And Noah Puckerman was one of those things she chose to be confident about. She could help him, she was _sure_ of it. If he'd let her help, she'd help.

"Where're we?" Puck asked when he was finally awake enough to look around.

"The middle of nowhere," Rachel answered.

Puck's eyes landed on a field full of grazing cattle and nodded, "Looks that way."

"It's beautiful out here," Rachel commented whimsically.

Puck raised an eyebrow. "Looks like the shit around home if you ask me."

The two were quiet for a few moments and then Rachel spoke. "Noah, can I ask you a question?" She tapped her fingers along the steering wheel to the beat of the music that was softly playing. Puck, obviously still a little bit groggy from his nap, just nodded. "Why'd you go to jail?"

Puck turned his head and stared at her. "Uh…drunk driving. You know that."

Rachel let a moment of silent exasperation hang between them before she shook her head. "Yes, I know _that. _I mean, why did you do it time and time again? I would think that after you'd been arrested the first time, you would have learned your lesson. But to do it twice and then three times? Why?"

Puck gazed out the window, his eyes taking in the dirty-sided semi-trailer that they were passing. "I don't have a good answer. I drank and then I drove. It's not rocket science."

"But you know better."

"Fuck, Rachel, of course I do!" Puck couldn't help the annoyance that slipped into his voice but he hadn't agreed to go on this trip in order to be lectured by Miss Never-Fucks-Up the whole time. Closing his eyes for a moment, Puck answered, "I had my first drink when I was 14. I've always drank. Somewhere along the line, though, it just got… it took control of me instead of the other way around."

Rachel kept her eyes on the road, asking, "Do you think you're an alcoholic?"

Puck snorted. "Considering I've been arrested for drunk driving three fucking times, I'd say that yeah, I may have a little bit of a problem. And I come from a long, proud line of alcoholics."

"Really?" Rachel glanced at him quickly before zeroing back in on the traffic.

"My dad was a drunk. Up until the day he walked out, he drank. I was little so I don't remember much besides the yelling and my dad throwing shit and my mom crying every damn day but according to my Nana, he was a pretty serious drunk. And my grandfather, my mom's dad, was also a drunk. That's why my mom's riding me about doing the same shit. She's been around enough drunks and losers in her life and now she can add her son to the list."

"That's not true and you know it!" Rachel admonished. "Alcoholism is a disease and it's one that can be fought. You just have to be willing." She paused, obviously thinking about what she was going to say next. "Do you know why you drink?"

"Because it feels good."

Rachel sighed. "That's a pat answer and you know it. There's always a reason people drink. I don't think anyone drinks just because they like the way it feels. Alcohol numbs the mind, as you know… And it's…" Rachel bit her lip as she thought. "Do you use alcohol to cope?"

Puck bit out a laugh. "Since when did you become fucking Dr. Freud, Rachel? And why are we even talking about this shit?"

"I'm an intelligent person, Noah," Rachel answered tightly. "I pay attention to the world. And alcoholism crosses all race, ethnic, and class creeds, as you know."

Something in the way Rachel's voice rose when she spoke piqued Puck's interest. "So who was the alcoholic in your family?" Puck would honestly be surprised if Rachel had a relative that was… well, that was a fuck-up like him. The Berry family just seemed so perfect and put together.

Rachel let Puck's question sit for a moment as she changed lanes to pass a rickety old Ford. When she had moved back over into their lane, she said, "My Dad's dad. After Grandma died, apparently, he took up with the bottle. The family finally staged an intervention after Grandpa threatened to burn down the house while in a drunken rage. He got help and never had another problem."

"I don't want help," Puck said quickly. "I can handle this shit on my own."

"Can you?" Rachel countered.

"'Course I can."

"I'm not so sure, Noah. If you could, you wouldn't have wound up in jail."

Puck turned to scowl at her and said, "We're not talking about this anymore. I didn't agree to be lecture for hundreds of miles."

Rachel nodded silently, reaching over to turn the radio up. Puck's hand shot out and stopped her. When she turned to him, a questioning look on his face, he said, "So why're you back, Rachel?"

Rachel huffed out a heavy breath. "I already told you, Noah, things didn't work out in New York City. And I'm not ready to discuss this. I've _also _told you that."

"Tough shit, Rachel. I just listened to your psychobabble about my own bullshit so start talking."

Rachel sat quietly for what felt like ages to Puck. When she finally opened her mouth, she said, "The last straw was when the restaurant I was waitressing in burned down and I was jobless."

"You? Waitress?" Puck's voice was disbelieving.

"Yes," Rachel bit out, "I'm actually a very skilled waitress, thank you very much. It's the only way I kept the lights on and a roof over my head for several years in Manhattan."

"Really?" Puck asked, drawing out the word. "That's…surprising."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Noah Puckerman," Rachel said icily.

"And that's because you have yet to tell me shit, remember? You're the one that keeps telling me, 'I'm not ready to talk about it yet.' There's nothing wrong with being a waitress, Rach. My mom did that for years in the evenings when she was in nursing school. It's an honest day's work."

"I know that," Rachel answered quickly. "It's just not something I'm proud of because I should have been doing better and I wasn't. And waitressing was the best option for a flexible schedule so that if I needed to on auditions or go to rehearsal, I could with very little stress or with little imposition to anyone."

"Hmm," Puck muttered. "So you did actually _do_ the whole acting thing? That wasn't total bullshit then?"

"No, it wasn't," Rachel said coldly. But anyway," she rushed the words, "we're not talking about that now."

"Of course we aren't," Puck snapped back. "Goddamn, Rachel, you act like you murdered someone or some heinous shit. So you were a Broadway flop? Big damn deal. Shit doesn't always work out. Believe me, I _know._"

Tears prickled Rachel's eyes. _Broadway flop_? As much as it hurt to hear him put her troubles in such a heartless light, she almost wanted to admit that he was right. That's exactly what she was. Shaking her head, she swallowed and lifted her voice, asking, "So do you want to stop in St. Louis for the night? I think we should. And then tomorrow morning, we can go up in the Arch. I brought my camera so I can chronicle our journey."

Puck rolled his head toward Rachel, ticking his eyebrow up as he took in the smile plastered on her face. The fake smile was back. He felt like pointing it but yawned instead. "Fine, whatever. Wake me up when we get somewhere."

"You're going back to sleep?" Rachel asked.

"You're not in the mood to talk about why you came home so I'm gonna sleep. And don't put on any of that screechy shit of yours. It's hard to sleep to."

Rachel pursed her lips and slid her sunglasses over her eyes, despite the fact that it was cloudy outside and dusk would be falling soon. Puck watched her and then shrugged, closing his eyes to let the whir of the tires lull him to sleep again.

…

"How 'bout that hotel?" Puck pointed through the front window toward a single-story, slightly dilapidated hotel up ahead.

Rachel shook her head vigorously. "No. No way. Absolutely not. That place is teaming with diseases. That's the kind of hotel where you pull back the covers of your bed and find pubic hairs on your supposed 'clean' sheets."

Puck let out a loud laugh and then argued, "Fuck, Rach, we only got so much money, ya know. We can't stay at the Hilton."

"I know that, Noah," Rachel snapped. "But I'm fairly certain we can find something for the night in between that cheap, tawdry dump and a Hilton." Scrunching her eyes to peer off into the distance, Rachel pointed and gave Puck a gloating look. "Up ahead, a Holiday Inn Express. Not dumpy _and _they have a continental breakfast. We'll get more value for our dollar that way."

Puck shrugged and said, "Don't care. I just want to go to sleep."

"You've slept for half the day!" Rachel complained. "Have I gotten to nap at all? No! I've been driving while you sat over there, snoring and talking in your sleep."

"I don't talk in my sleep," Puck scoffed.

"Okay," Rachel admitted, "you don't talk but you _mumble. _A lot. About useless, senseless stuff. It's quite distracting."

Puck looked at her, annoyance written all over his face, as they pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. Pushing open the car door, he said, "I'll get us a room."

Minutes later, the two of them were stepping inside their home for the night. With two double beds and a wall-mounted TV, the room was comfortable. Rachel, however, was too tired to care. "Do you mind if I take a shower? I really, honestly want to pass out. I'm far too exhausted to even think about eating or watching TV or doing anything but sleeping."

"Nah," Puck answered, "go for it. I'm not that hungry, either."

Rachel tossed her suitcase on the bed and unzipped it, pulling out her night clothes. "You can go first if you'd like," she offered.

"I'll shower in the morning," Puck told her. "You go ahead."

With her clothes balled against her chest, Rachel tossed Puck a smile and then disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a loud _click. _

Puck heard the shower water kick on just as he was flipping on the TV. Once he'd found some police drama rerun, he tossed down the remote and pulled his shirt over his head. Kicking his cargo shorts off quickly, he slid into a pair of loose workout shorts and tugged one of his old, sleeveless McKinley shirts over his head. He wadded up his worn clothing and when he shoved them down into the bag, his hand hit against the bottle of vodka he'd shoved down in there before they'd left. His fingers curled around the neck and he pulled it out, his eyes going towards the bathroom door. He still had a few minutes, he assumed.

_Just one drink. _

He looked back down at the bottle and then back towards the bathroom door. His hand slid up the neck of the bottle, settling around the cap, when he heard the shower water shut off. Swearing under his breath, he crammed the bottle back down deep inside his duffel bag and zipped it up. Shoving the bag between the bed and the wall, he tossed himself onto the bed and was propping the pillows up so he could watch TV when the bathroom door opened.

Rachel emerged in a swirl of steam. Her hair was wet, the damp tendrils curling around her face. Her cheeks and skin glowed red from what looked like a warm, vigorous shower and she was in a pair of pajama shorts and a little blue t-shirt, both which clung to her still-damp skin. Puck nearly groaned out loud. He hadn't expected _that_ on this trip but in hindsight, he should have. She was hot, yes. But he'd never seen her look better in her entire life than she did when she was still damp and freshly showered.

_This was a really fucking bad idea, _Puck thought as he watched her cross in front of his bed towards her own. He forced his eyes onto the TV and tried to ignore the swell of her hips as she turned her back on him and rooted through her suitcase, pulling out a small make-up bag. When she turned and crossed in front of the TV again, she shot him a smile. She disappeared back into the bathroom and when she appeared again a minute later, she flipped the light off and pulled the door closed.

Puck watched as Rachel walked to her suitcase, his eyes on the long expanse of exposed thigh and calf that ended at a tiny, trim ankle that would easily fit between the curl of his fingers. When she went to zip up her bag and then bent over to sit on the floor, he fought off the urge to make a comment that would probably get him smacked. Her shorts clung to the curves of her ass and it was obvious to him that there was nothing underneath that thin material.

He shifted uncomfortably against the arousing idea of Rachel naked under those shorts as images of bare skin, open thighs, and writhing hips raced around inside his brain. His body began to respond and when Rachel turned to face him, Puck could clearly see her nipples outlined through the fabric of her shirt. He locked eyes with Rachel for split second before bolting out of bed and into the bathroom, shutting the door with a louder slam than he'd intended.

Ignoring the fact that he was halfway hard, he forced himself to pee and then washed his hands. And then he stalled. Leaning up against the door, he told himself to get it together. This was _just_ Rachel Berry. Sure, he'd wanted to fuck her when he was 16 (and 17 and 18) but he was 27 now and could control his shit better, right? The _last _thing he needed right now was to complicate shit by fucking Rachel. True, he didn't even know if she would be interested in _that_ with _him _but really, he could probably convince her if he went back out there and brushed her hair away from her face before touching her shoulder in _just _the right way. He had the moves. He knew exactly what he'd need to do to get her to give in. And he could at least admit that Rachel would probably be one hell of a lay. _Shit_, he could practically feel her smooth skin under his lips as he kissed her, his hands going to tug her shirt up and off... Shaking his head, he silently told himself to forget it. _Not now_. Not on this trip. _That's not what this is about. Block that shit out._

Puck took a deep breath, ran his hand over his crotch to make sure there was no visible "evidence" of the fact that he was turned on, and then went back out. Rachel was under the covers (thankfully) and had flipped out the light by her bed.

"Do you care if we sleep now? I'm so tired." Her voice was soft and thick and Puck could tell she was already on her way to passing out.

"Nah, sounds good," Puck answered, his own voice raspy.

Rachel let out a contented hum and said sleepily, "Goodnight, Noah."

Puck turned on his side to face towards Rachel's bed. He could see her silhouette clearly, the light filtering in from outside and highlighting the curves of her small body beneath the thin blanket. Pushing away any thoughts that would get him (or both of them) into more trouble than either one of them needed, he sighed and said, "G'night, Rach." Then he rolled over, giving into sleep instead of temptation.

* * *

**Next up**: Their trip continues and conversations get more uncomfortable.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note**: Sorry there has been such a huge gap in updates. My muse completely left me for this story and for a while, I considered just abandoning it and not finishing it. However, I've NEVER left a story unfinished before and I guess I can't start doing that now. This story was originally planned out to be 8 chapters but it might end up being longer. Not really sure yet!

And because of a particular scene in this chapter, I had to change the rating for this story to M.

* * *

After the 9th time he's been told to "hold still and smile", Puck was pretty sure Rachel's Sony camera was about to be ripped from her hands and chucked into the Mississippi River. While Rachel babbled on and on about the "glorious architecture" of the St. Louis Arch as she stood at the base and looked skyward, Puck leaned over the railing, his eyes on the murky, dirty water of the river. He watched a huge tree branch float by and blankly wondered how many bodies floated down this dirty waterway every year. St. Louis, so far, hadn't impressed him. It smelled weird and was generally dirty and, once Rachel announced that her camera was full and she needed to offload the pictures onto her laptop, Puck practically dragged her back to the car.

"Let's go," he ordered, his mood short. Yesterday morning, the trip had seemed like a great idea but now, after he'd spent a night sleeping restlessly due to the sexy woman in the next bed, his patience was wearing thin.

"We need to get on the road, Rachel," he said in a forceful tone.

Rachel glowered at him as she put her camera neatly back inside its case and then tucked it into her laptop bag. "We didn't even go to the top of the Arch, Noah. What's the point of coming to St. Louis if we don't go to the top?"

"The point of coming to St. Louis is that we have to pass through here to get everywhere else. 'Gateway to the West' and all that bullshit? Ring a bell? And there's no way in _fuck_ I'm going to the top of a goddamn…" he lifted his eyes and looked toward the shiny arch glinting in the sunlight, "…whatever the fuck that thing is that looks like it was made out of recycled aluminum cans."

Rachel slammed the trunk of the car and stomped around to the driver's side. "What's got you in such a bad mood? You're even more unpleasant than usual, which I honestly thought was impossible."

Puck glanced over at her and then away again as he pulled open the door and climbed into the passenger seat. "I'm hungry and tired. I slept like shit last night and a fucking bagel hardly cut it this morning."

Rachel started the car and put it in reverse, backing out of the space. "Will you get in a better mood if I take you somewhere to eat?"

"That would help."

"Fine," Rachel huffed.

She maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and cast a longing glance at the Arch before heading towards the interstate. Soon, they were leaving downtown St. Louis behind. Once they were in the suburbs, Rachel exited again and pulled to a stop in a Denny's parking lot. For the first time all day, Puck grinned. "Denny's, I can do," he said. Then he was out of the car so fast that Rachel had to run to catch up.

…

By the time they were actually on the road and putting more miles behind them, it was already early afternoon. Puck was asleep again, his soft snores competing with the gentle beat of the Vivaldi she'd chosen to listen to. She cast a furtive glance at Puck out of the corner of her eye, her mind again on why he'd been so surly earlier in the day. They'd both woken up around 7am and then he'd showered while she'd straightened her hair and did her make-up (powder and lip gloss only. Her diet meant she had nearly flawless skin.) While he was sleeping and not scrutinizing her like she'd felt he'd been doing since they left Lima, it was easy for her to admit that her mouth had gone dry when he'd emerged from the bathroom, a big white towel around his waist and his shoulders still covered in droplets of water. And she'd continued to work diligently on her hair even as her eyes tracked his movements behind her in the mirror. He'd gone over to his bag, his muscles reacting with every movement, and removed clothes before disappearing in the bathroom again. Rachel had been relieved when he'd come out again in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that, blessedly, covered his impeccable body. Now, as she drove along the interstate and listened to him emit a rather loud and unbecoming snore, she blamed her reaction on the fact that she hadn't had sex in a long time. A _really _long time. She and John had broken up the year before and, since then, none of her dates had warranted anything serious enough to constitute engaging in sexual relations. Her face went red when she thought about the fact that her trusty vibrator was packed in the bag in the trunk and how utterly _horrified_ she'd be if Noah happened to discover it. And it's not like she could use it anyway, as long as they were sharing a hotel room, so she wasn't even sure why she'd packed it.

She heard Puck grumble something in his sleep about needing food and rolled her eyes. He'd eaten a bagel for breakfast and then, when they'd stopped at Denny's, he'd ingested the hugest, most vile looking pile of dead animal (aka a bacon double cheeseburger) that she'd ever seen. Her stomach had nearly revolted when the grease dripped out onto the place but the happy, stupid look on his face as he chewed had only served to make her laugh.

Rachel was just passing a slow-moving semi when the ringing of Puck's phone jolted her out of her thoughts and pulled Puck from sleep. Grabbing the phone out of the cup holder, he glanced at it and grinned before answering. "Sup, babe?"

Rachel watched from the corner of her eye as he listened and then he said, "No, I don't know when I'll be back… What do you mean, who'd I go with? Who said I went with anybody?"

The voice on the end argued and Puck answered, "No, I'm not alone. No, it's none of your business who I'm with."

The voice grew louder and then Puck said, "Fuck off, Santana. You know that's not how this shit works."

Rachel watched as Puck ended the call and threw the phone angrily back into the cup holder. "Fucking bitch," he muttered.

"Problems in Paradise?" Rachel queried dryly.

Puck shot her an annoyed look. "Shit's not like that with Santana but she fucking forgets that everyone once in a while. Told me I better not be fucking anybody else even though she probably is. She's so goddamn possessive half the time."

"Maybe she loves you, Noah, did you ever think about that?"

Puck let out a snort and shook his head. "Hell, no. That's not how it is with us. I don't _do _love and neither does she. Shit with Santana is purely about sex. Neither of us wants all the bullshit and drama and lies that goes along with a relationship when all really _want _to do is come anyway."

Rachel made a face. "You're so disgusting."

"Lemme guess, you never have sex just for the sake of sex, do you?" Rachel's face reddened and Puck swore. "C'mon, Rachel. You're 27. Are you telling me that you never fuck _just_ to fuck?"

"Noah," Rachel began, her tone reminiscent of a smarmy librarian, "I'm an adult and yes, I've had sex _just _to have sex before. I prefer it to be done when two people are in a loving relationship, though. I want it to be meaningful."

"I dunno," Puck countered, "it always feels pretty fucking meaningful when I'm in the middle of coming."

"You are so uncouth," Rachel spat, even though her cheeks flushed as she thought of him, for the briefest of seconds, in the throes of that most intimate of acts.

"You really need to loosen the fuck up, Rachel. It'll do you some good." Looking at her with a grin, he arched his eyebrow and said, "I can teach you all about fucking for the sake of coming, Rach. Just let me know…"

Rachel's face flamed red, her whole body warm at the idea of what he was suggesting. Pushing away the idea of his naked torso, she bit her tongue. She had the urge to remind him that the fact that he'd been _so _loose was probably why he ended up in jail in the first place. But instead, she shook her head, ignored his blatant offer for sex, and said, "I simply want a relationship that matters, Noah. I'd love to have what Sam and Quinn have."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Puck tense at the mention of Quinn's name. She opened her mouth to ask him why it affected him so much and then she closed it again before shaking her head and asking, "You don't like her much, do you?"

Puck sat still for a minute, his eyes staring out the window. When he spoke, he sounded tired. "I don't _dislike _her. I just…" He swiveled his head and looked at Rachel. "I resent her, okay?"

Rachel bit her lip and didn't say anything because his words sounded unfinished. After a few seconds of pause, he spoke again.

"I have a kid out there that's practically a fucking teenager and I've only seen her once, for about 10 minutes. Then she was ripped out of my life and Quinn didn't give a damn. She fucking acted like it never even happened." He looked over at Rachel. "Since you're her friend, has she ever mentioned _anything _about Beth or me to you? Anything?"

Rachel shook her head. "No."

"Didn't fucking think so." Puck pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know she's your friend and all so I'm trying to watch what I say but it's really a bunch of bullshit, Rach. I wanted to be Beth's dad. After what my father did to me and Sarah, the last thing I wanted to do was walk away from that baby. But Quinn didn't really give me a chance and—"

"A part of you has never forgiven her," Rachel finished for him.

"Yeah," Puck answered. "I mean, we never even had a fucking conversation after she gave Beth away."

Rachel thought for a moment and then said, "It feels unfinished."

Puck looked at her. "Huh?"

"Beth and Quinn," Rachel explained. "The whole thing feels unfinished to you?"

He blew out a breath and nodded, "Yeah, I guess. It's… it's like…"

"A wound that doesn't heal? Or that you won't let heal anyway?" Rachel offered.

"Yeah," Puck said tersely.

"Don't you think you'd feel better if you let it go, Noah? It was a long time ago. You two were just kids."

"_Fuck._ I know that, Rachel. I _do. _But I still think about my daughter every goddamn day and I can't even picture what she looks like now. All I have is some fucking fuzzy memory of a tiny baby in a pink hat, wrapped in a blanket."

_And that's why you drink_, Rachel thought. She bit her lip, letting the silence linger between them for a moment before she said, "I've seen her once, you know."

"Beth?" Puck queried.

Rachel nodded. "Once. Shelby came to New York and brought Beth with her, of course. They looked me up and we had lunch."

"How was she? How old was she when you saw her?"

Rachel thought for a moment, recollecting that uncomfortable afternoon. "Beth was about eight. She looked so much like you, Noah. I remember thinking that it was like staring at your little sister. She had Quinn's nose and mouth, though. But the eyes and the hair were all you."

"Was…was she okay? I mean, was she healthy and happy and all that shit?"

Rachel nodded. "Very much so. She actually helped save the awkward conversation between Shelby and me. It went downhill from the very beginning because Shelby introduced me to Beth as her 'good friend.' It was like being slapped in the face. In hindsight, I understand that she couldn't really explain to her 8-year-old who I really was but it still hurt to hear my mother tell her adopted daughter that her birth daughter was merely just a friend. But after the way Shelby chose to introduce me, I didn't really feel like conversing. But Beth was quite the talker and she rambled and rambled on about New York and Broadway and going to the top of the Empire State Building. She was truly adorable."

Puck's mouth curved into a gentle smile, his eyes glazed over. Finally he said, "Of course she's adorable. She's my kid."

Rachel laughed at Puck's attempt to lighten the mood. "She's very intelligent and inquisitive, Noah. And…" Rachel paused and briefly glanced toward him before she turned her attention back to the long, boring expanse of interstate before her, "and she was just beginning to take guitar lessons when we met. Shelby said that she loved the guitar and had been begging since she was six to learn how to play it."

She waited for Puck to respond and when he didn't, she turned toward him. He glanced at her and gave her an uneasy smile. "Cool," he finally said.

Silence settled between them again and then Puck leaned forward, rooting around in his duffel bag. When he pulled out his iPod, Rachel let out a tiny sigh. Their conversation was obviously over. As he slipped the ear buds into his ears and turned his head to look out the window, Rachel thought about how he was letting his demons hold him back. There were a million things she could say that she felt would help him. In fact, she was dying to help him. She hated the hold that his past had over him and wanted to see him free from it. And really, she was excellent at giving advice. But with every passing second, he was closing her out again and she knew that the openness of their earlier conversation wouldn't be easily found again. Sighing at what she considered to be only a temporary defeat, she turned her own music back up and focused on the countryside whizzing past her.

* * *

Hours later, they were deep into Kansas. The black clouds that hung low over the road sent a chill through Rachel. She couldn't remember when she'd ever seen the sky look so ominous.

"Noah?" she asked. "Do you think we should pull over?"

Puck leaned forward and turned his eyes toward the sky. "I dunno, Rach. I think it's just gonna rain. We should be fine."

Rachel nodded and accelerated, eager to get through the dark clouds and onto the other side. Just as they passed a sign that read, "Kansas City, 12 miles" the skies opened up with a torrential downpour. Rachel's fingers tensed on the steering wheel and she leaned forward, her eyes focusing on the road. The wipers were going at full speed and she still could barely see the road in front of her.

"There's an exit up there, Rach. I think we need to get off before it gets much worse," Puck said, equally as tense in the passenger seat. When hail began to bounce off the hood of his car, he swore. "Not my baby, please. Not my fucking baby," he muttered.

Rachel shot him a sideways glance as she slowed to exit and then pulled into an abandoned gas station right across the road from the exit ramp.

"Pull up to the old pumps," Puck ordered quickly. "There's a canopy. I don't need hail damage!"

Rachel drove under the canopy and they silently watched the hail bounce off the ground outside their shelter. Puck slumped back in the seat and blew out a breath. "I know it's kinda early but maybe we should call it a day? There's a diner over there and a shitty looking motel. Might as well just get some food and then call it a night?"

Rachel eyed the hotel suspiciously. It was one of those two-story, slightly dilapidated ones advertising rooms for $29.95 per night.

"Oh, stop turning up your noise. It's dry and cheap."

Glowering at Puck, Rachel started up the car. The hail had tapered off and it was just solid rain again. Pulling into the diner, Puck pushed open the door and darted toward the building. Rachel reached into the backseat, grabbed her umbrella, and carefully exited the car. The thunder rumbling in the distance told her that she needed to give in because this storm wasn't going anywhere for a while.

…

Despite the fact that the hotel looked revolting from the outside, the room wasn't _quite _as bad as Rachel had anticipated. She took the double bed closest to the window so that she could listen to the rain bounce off the sidewalk outside and began rooting through her bags. When she pulled her nightclothes and a change of panties from her bag, Puck stood up quickly.

"I'm going out for a while. I'll be back a bit later."

Rachel watched him disappear through the door quickly, her face screwed up in confusion. "That was odd," she stated to the empty room.

As she reached into her bag to find a pair of socks, her fingers brushed against the vibrator she'd packed. She paused for a moment, almost considering taking it into the shower with her when she thought better of it. What if Noah came back while she was in the shower? He'd hear the buzzing and she would _never, ever _escape the teasing and taunting and blatant sexual comments he'd make. Sighing, Rachel quickly zipped the bag closed and then locked herself in the bathroom.

When she emerged 40 minutes later, he still wasn't back. She ran a comb through her hair, slathered some moisturizer on her face, and then pushed the blankets to the bed back. Eyeing the sheets carefully, she was satisfied when she didn't see anything that would disgust her. Tucking herself into the blankets, she turned on the television and found the local station. The news was on and they were under a tornado warning.

Her thoughts quickly travelled to Puck and she began to worry about him. But as she contemplated getting dressed to go seek him out, he came back in. He was soaking wet and his clothes clung to him.

"Shit's a mess out there," he said breathlessly.

Rachel nodded and pointed at the screen. "Tornado warning. You need to get in here so we can pay attention to the news. We might need to seek shelter."

Puck shook his head and tugged his wet shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor by the bed. Rachel's eyes settled on the wet muscles of his back and she tried to look away but couldn't. This attraction to him wasn't new, not by any stretch of her imagination. She'd been attracted to him since for as long as she could remember. It had increased over the years of high school but except for the seven days they actually dated as sophomores, it was never explored. As his back muscles flexed and rippled as he dug around for clean clothes, Rachel felt herself regretting that fact.

When Puck turned around quickly, he caught Rachel staring. A smirk transformed his face and he said, "I'm gonna take a shower, k?"

Rachel nodded and pulled her eyes away from the fact that rivulets of water were running down his torso, plastering the hair above his belly button to his skin. Her mind drifted to her battery operated toy in her bag again and she let out an audible sigh.

"What?" Puck asked.

Rachel shook her head. "Nothing…just thinking about the weather."

Puck let out a laugh and shook his head. "Sure ya are. Be in the shower."

He disappeared quickly into the bathroom and Rachel flopped back into the pillows as she berated herself for having such a reaction to him. _He's just a man. A very attractive man, yes, but just a man. You can control yourself._

Rolling over onto her side, Rachel turned the light by her bed off and listened to the storm outside and the sound of the weatherman on the TV talk about the direction of the storm. Closing her eyes, she drifted into sleep.

…

In the shower, Puck braced his free hand against the wall as he slid his thumb over the head of his cock again and again. He bit his lip, carefully aware that the woman he was picturing was just on the other side of the thin, cheap door. He slid his hand down his length, gripping tightly at the base, before sliding back up and repeating the motion with increased speed. The soap created just enough friction and with his eyes closed tightly, he could easily pretend it was Rachel and not his hand. He could practically see her on that lumpy motel bed. She was on her knees and spread open before him. She had the most gorgeous pussy, all trim and pink and wet and swollen, and as much as he wanted to spend time sinking his tongue into her repeatedly, she was wiggling her ass at him and looking over her shoulder, begging to be fucked. Her voice was soft and raspy and she keened his name and pushed herself back against him, impatience and need snapping her self-control. He squeezed his cock hard as he pictured himself pushing inside her wet heat and nearly groaned because he fucking _knew _that hot little body would feel like heaven. He imagined her taking him fully in one stroke and then pushing herself up so that she was on her knees, her back against his chest. Her breasts were small but perfect and he could see himself tugging at her nipples with one hand while the other bracketed her hip tightly to give him leverage as he jerked himself from her body before roughly pushing back in to the hilt. Puck felt the familiar burn inside him and then squeezed himself tightly, his palm coasting over the swollen head again. With a quiet grunt, he felt himself break and he let go, shooting toward the floor of the tub. When he was spent, he turned and leaned against the shower wall, letting the spray bounce off his chest and cool his heated face. He'd seen the look she gave him earlier. He'd given her the exact same look the night before. Part of him wanted to go out and just tell her that they were two consenting adults, obviously attracted to one another, and that they should just give in and fuck. But the rest of him knew what she'd say and he really didn't feel like being rejected, even if he knew her uptight façade was all that would keep her from giving in.

Turning off the shower water, he quickly dried and dressed. When he opened up the door, he saw that the room was dark except for the glow of the TV. Rachel was obviously asleep and he was actually relieved.

When he opened up his bag again to dig out a razor, his fingers brushed against the bottle that was hidden there. Memories of their conversation earlier in the day came back to him and his mood soured quickly. Images of fucking her flashed before him again and he felt himself give in to the need that only that bottle could satisfy. He glanced over at Rachel and, once he was sure that she was still asleep, he pulled it out and unscrewed the top. A few swallows wouldn't hurt and would take the edge off.

…

A loud clap of thunder jolted Rachel from sleep. Flipping over, she stared at the dark room, trying to remember where they were. The TV was still on and the radar was up on the screen. The storm was still raging outside but Rachel could tell it was the middle of the night.

When she rolled over, she spied Puck sitting up in his bed. His eyes were glassy and he was staring at the screen as he tilted a near-empty bottle toward his mouth.

Rachel shot upright. "Are you drinking, Noah?" She barked.

"What's it look like?" he asked, his words slurred.

Rachel pushed back the covers and stomped over to him. She reached for the bottle and pried it from his hands but she was too late, the bottle was already empty.

"I thought I told you that there would be no drinking on this trip!" she shrieked. She was infuriated, anger rushing through her. Her mind went back to their earlier conversation regarding Quinn and Beth and then she realized why he was drinking. The demons were taking over again.

"You have no willpower, Noah Puckerman! I can't believe you!" she berated.

"Shut the fuck up, Rachel. I don't need your nagging right now. Get back in your fucking bed and go back to sleep."

Rachel ignored his harsh tone and words and kept after him. "You're doing this because we talked about Quinn and Beth, aren't you? I can't believe you let one conversation send you back to that stupid bottle. Why, Noah? Why can't you resist? You'll never stay sober if you don't learn how to say no!" She dropped her hands to her hips and stared at him, waiting for him to respond.

Puck's eyes fell to the way her hands curved against her body and then looked up at her. "Unless you're gonna strip down and lemme fuck you, go away. I don't need your shit."

Rachel squeaked in protest and then glowered at him. "Like I would let your drunken hands anywhere near my body! I'm…I'm so disappointed in you, Noah!"

"So you're not gonna let me fuck you, are you?" He leered at her and Rachel would have smacked him if she thought he'd remember it in the morning. "Shit, baby, you're missing out," he practically wheezed with a laugh. Rachel balled her fists and glared at him before she stomped back over to her bed. Climbing under the covers again, she tried to ignore the racing of her heart as disappointment settled into her body.

When she flopped over and turned away from him, she told herelf that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel woke up the next morning with the sun shining through the threadbare drapes, signaling that the storm that raged for at least 12 hours had finally passed. She was relieved for the briefest of moments until the late-night encounter with Puck suddenly landed in the forefront of her brain. She looked over at him, saw that he was passed out on top the covers with his legs and arms splayed, and anger surged through her all over again.

She pushed herself out of bed and stomped over to her bag with a loud huff. Pulling the clothes from it roughly, she walked into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard that it shook the walls. _That should wake the jerk up, _she thought.

Once she was dressed and she'd pulled a comb through her hair, she decided she'd just leave it wavy and not go to all the trouble of straightening it. She listened, her ear near the door, to see if she heard signs of life on the other side. Discouraged, she yanked the door open and was greeted by the loud sound of Puck snoring.

She was anything but quiet as she packed her things. She turned the television on and jacked up the volume, watching as they covered the tornado damage from the storms. When she heard Puck begin to stir, she tensed and turned her back on him.

The springs in the bed creaked as he stood up. He groaned and swore under his breath and then she heard him shuffle across the carpet and close the bathroom door. Rachel continued to pack and straighten up the room but before Puck could come out, she slipped outside and loaded her bags into the car.

When she came back inside, he was standing by the bed, dressed but bleary-eyed. "Wanna get some breakfast?" he asked.

Rachel shook her head and gave him a tight-lipped answer. "Not hungry. You eat. I'll check out."

Puck shrugged and grabbed his bag, tossing it over his shoulder. She watched as he shoved the bag inside the car and then walked across the parking lot toward the diner. She was furious as he went. Was he not even going to apologize? Was he not even going to mention what a complete _ass _he'd been the night before?

Rachel stalled for a while, carefully arranging and rearranging their bags in the trunk, and then finally made her way to the dingy little motel office to check out. Once there was nothing left to do, she drove the car across the street and parked in the diner lot. Puck was seated in a booth by the window and he watched her approach but once he realized she wasn't getting out, he turned back towards his food.

Rachel flipped through her email on her phone and watched him out of the corner of her eye. When he stood up to go pay, she quickly put her phone away and started the car.

Puck pulled the door open and tossed a bag at her as he climbed inside. "Oat bran muffin," he muttered. He dropped two to-go cups of coffee down into the cup holders and then snapped his seat belt into place. "Let's go," he said, his eyes on her.

Rachel nodded and reversed the car out of the space. Once they were on the interstate, she pulled the muffin from the bag and nibbled on it. She felt Puck's eyes on her for the longest time before he turned away and slumped down into his seat. In no time at all, he was snoring again and she was alone with her very frustrated thoughts.

…

Being in such closed quarters as a car when she was purposely not speaking to her travel companion proved to be more difficult than Rachel had initially imagined. Trying to ignore Puck meant that she was even more aware of him than normal. She heard the rustle of his clothes as he shifted in the passenger seat. She noticed when he sighed quietly as he surfed the web from his smart phone or changed from one song to another on his iPod. She felt him shooting glances toward her time and time again but she pretended to be focused on the road like the vigilant driver that she was.

After five straight hours on the road (save one very brief bathroom break), Rachel saw a sign for a truck stop and, despite the fact that the vegan/vegetarian options would be slim to nil, she was starving and signaled off the highway. Puck didn't say anything as she parked and climbed out of the car; he simply followed her inside and silently slid into the booth across from her.

Rachel read every line on the menu just to keep from having to engage in idle conversation with him. But once they'd ordered and the menus had been taken away, they were forced to stare at one another.

"You gonna ignore me all fucking day?"

The question jolted her because she expected something a little less rude as an opening line. He was, after all, the one at fault in this argument.

"I have nothing to say to you," Rachel answered tightly.

Puck snorted. "That's bullshit. You _always _have something to say. You're practically ready to explode with one of your epic rants. You've been gripping the steering wheel so hard that you could snap it for hundreds of miles."

"I'm too disappointed in you to speak at this juncture. You promised you wouldn't drink on this trip and you let me down. I don't know how to process that."

Puck let out a big, heavy sigh and wilted into the hard plastic bench. "S'fucking hard _not _to drink, Rachel. I resisted as long as I could but I…_fuck. _I needed it. And if you hadn't woken up, you never would've even known."

"No," Rachel snapped, "You needed a way to forget the fact that we had a serious discussion about Quinn and Beth." Rachel pulled her eyes from the table's surface and glared at him. "Your inability to cope with life is disappointing, Noah. Do you know how much better you'd feel if you'd actually really talk about things? Yesterday, for example, was a good start. We were having an open and honest discussion before you clammed up. And instead opening your eyes to your life and your situation and realizing that you can accept things, move on, and try to be a contributing member of society, you pick up that swill again and get drunk. I am trying to help you, Noah, but you have to help yourself, too." Rachel ended her tirade with a growl of frustration and Puck arched his brow at her.

"I don't remember asking you for your help, actually. And besides, if you wanna talk about clamming up, let's talk about clamming up. I still don't know why the fuck you're even here right now? Why aren't you in New York, Rachel? Why aren't you in the middle of some goddamn stage singing at the top of your lungs and blowing out everybody's eardrums? I've known you since we were little kids, Rach. That 'destined to become a star' shit is all you ever talked about. So why aren't you doing it?"

"I told you," Rachel answered icily, "it didn't work out."

"Right, but you've sure as shit haven't explained why but you expect me to pour all my emotional bullshit baggage out at your feet so you can be my savior and solve it?" Puck paused and glanced out the window above where they were seated before turning his attention back onto Rachel. "Found out you weren't nearly as talented as you thought, huh? Being the top talent in a godforsaken place like Lima, Ohio sure doesn't translate to New York City so much, does it?"

Rachel bit her lip and didn't answer. When Puck swore and slammed his fist against the table, Rachel jumped and jerked her head toward him, questions in her eyes.

"I'm tired of this shit, Rachel. You can sit there and judge the fuck out of me all damn day but when I even try to ask you a question about why you're driving my goddamn car in the middle of fucking Kansas instead of in New York, you can't answer. So you weren't any fucking good? So as it turns out, you sucked? Thought you were better than you actually really were?"

Rachel sucked in a breath and tears stung her eyes at his verbal assault on her. "I couldn't get a role that was worth a damn," she said through clenched teeth.

Puck looked at her. "Why not?"

Letting out a bitter laugh from a throat choked with tears, she said, "Because, like you said, I always thought I was better than I really was. I wasn't a strong enough dancer or my range wasn't right or there was another actress who was prettier or taller or had bigger breasts and a smaller nose. And I tried to choose the roles that would position me to move forward and finally get noticed. I _only _auditioned for roles that would give me the most exposure and I got nowhere. Half the time, I didn't even get a callback." Rachel let a tear slip down her cheek and she didn't stop it. "Do you have any idea what it means to work your whole life towards something only to have it blow up in your face? I have student loans that I can't pay for and a useless education if I'm not acting. And I can't get any role that would matter anyway. So I finally just auditioned for some shitty, poorly written "original" so far off Broadway that it was ridiculous and I got it. And then I got _cut. _Cut from a show that I was even embarrassed to even be associated with! Do you know what that's like, Noah? To prepare for something your entire life and to be solely focused on it that you sacrifice _everything else_ – a normal childhood, relaxed summers full of parties and sleepovers, friendships - in order to reach it only to find that, all the time, it was unreachable?"

Puck stared at Rachel for what felt like ages. And then he said something that was both full of truth but that also felt like an indictment. "The Rachel Berry I knew never let anyone tell her no."

Rachel corrected him quickly. "The Rachel Berry you knew thought she was the most talented person in the world. Clearly, she was wrong."

"Nope," Puck answered quickly with a shake of his head. "The Rachel Berry I knew _was _and _is_ a fucking awesome singer. You know you're incredible. I don't have to tell you. Maybe you just forgot what you were really after? Maybe you've been spending too much damn time focusing on what will make you famous instead of what will make you happy?"

Rachel snorted softly and wiped away a stray tear. "You sound like Quinn now."

Puck grinned. "Well maybe Fabray or Evans or whatever the fuck her name is now is actually right about something for once. There's always a first time for everything."

The waitress returned with their food and dropped it down in front of them. As they began to eat, Puck lifted his head and finished chewing a greasy fry. "So, Rachel, what makes you happy?"

"Singing," Rachel answered automatically.

"Well then, you should do that," Puck advised with a grin.

"I tried that already."

"Nope," Puck said as he took a bite of his nachos. "You were doing it wrong before. You should try again. And don't fuck it up this time."

For the first time all day, Rachel smiled at him. "Yeah, maybe I will give it another shot."

...

Rachel found herself much more relaxed after they'd finished eating and got back on the road. She was slightly embarrassed for having poured out her frustrations to him (and crying) but at the same time, it felt like a relief to actually talk about it. She was so used to holding things in and not expressing them that, once they poured out like a torrent, she found herself feeling lighter.

"Hey, Rach?" Puck began after they'd been on the road for a little while and he'd just ended a call with his mother.

"Yes?"

"I…uh… I wanna say sorry for last night. I'm kind of an asshole when I'm drunk."

"I realize that now…"

"I didn't mean to take it out on you. And I know why you're mad. I totally fucked up when I promised I wouldn't."

"You're an addict," Rachel said simply. "It's going to happen. It was just a shock to the system to wake up and discover you in such a state. And then, you…"

Puck laughed nervously. "Tried to get you to fuck me?"

Rachel's face reddened. "You remember that?"

"Shit, Rach. I'm a drunk…I can remember a lot of the shit I do before I black out. Besides, I didn't have all that much so I didn't get totally shitfaced. So yeah… I remember what I said."

"Oh," Rachel said quietly.

"I mean, the offer still stands but I shouldn't have said that shit when I was wasted."

Rachel turned her head to look at him, her mouth opening before she snapped it closed again. Puck watched her and then laughed. "No fucking point in pretending that I'm not attracted to you, Rach. That'd be dumb. You're hot. You've got a helluva body. But I still shouldn't have said it."

"It was startling to hear, I'll admit. I thought it was just the alcohol talking."

"No… the alcohol just makes me say what I'd already been thinking."

Feeling bolder than she'd felt all day, Rachel asked, "Care to share now that you're lucid again?"

Puck shook his head, his lips upturned into a Cheshire cat-like grin. "Naw... no way. I think it's for the best that I don't share what's been on my mind. Unless you wanna pull over and maybe I can show..." Puck watched her face turn bright red and then he let out a loud laugh. "Nevermind."

Her face burning, Rachel turned her attention back toward the road and let the conversation drop between them. They were treading on _extremely _dangerous territory.

…

Hours later, it was dark outside and they were still driving. Rachel was yawning so much that her eyes watered and the road ahead of her was starting to become blurry. Puck had the light map light on and was staring at a map and shaking his head. "There's not shit for at least fifty more miles. Other than a rest stop coming up, we're fucked. Maybe we should just stop there?"

Rachel shook her head vehemently. "I'm not sleeping in a rest stop, Noah! I won't do it!"

"You wanna fall asleep behind the wheel and kill us both? It's either that or the rest stop."

"Fine," Rachel huffed. "But if it's one of those dingy, terrible rest stops that looks like some B-movie slasher film sets, we're going on and _you're _driving."

Rachel was relieved when they arrived at the rest stop and discovered that it wasn't dirty and disgusting. It was one of those facilities with a small brick building housing bathrooms and information and a kiosk with soda and snack machines.

Rachel and Puck got out of the car and they both walked around, stretching their legs. "This place isn't bad, Rach. I think we should just sleep here."

Even though apprehension raced through her, she was too tired to argue. "Okay…that's fine, Noah. You have sleeping bags, right? We can curl up in the back seat, I suppose."

Puck watched as Rachel dug through her bag and then disappeared back inside the bathroom building. While she was gone, he got some sodas, pretzels, dried fruit, and sandwiches out of the vending machines and tossed them haphazardly onto a picnic table.

When Rachel came back out, she was in a thin pair of cotton shorts and a matching t-shirt. Her eyes lit up when she saw the food on the table and she sat down on the bench opposite him. "I'm starving," she admitted.

They ate in companionable silence, watching as minivans full of screaming children and haggard parents pulled to a stop and all poured out. Minutes later, they'd all climb back in, the kids fighting the entire time, and then they'd pull away again. Old couples slowly made their way towards the bathrooms, fingers intertwined. A young couple walked a tiny poodle past their table and Rachel dropped to the ground, talking to the dog in a squeaky voice full of baby talk while she rubbed its ears and Puck watched, clearly amused.

As night fell over them, the rest stop cleared out and soon, there was just their car and one other one on the premises. Puck walked to the trunk and pulled out the sleeping bags, unzipping them and tossing them into the backseat. Once Rachel had discarded their trash, she climbed in on the passenger side of the back seat and began arranging the blanket. Puck climbed in next to her and pulled the door closed with a loud thud.

Rachel shifted in the sleep, balling up one of her sweatshirts to use as a pillow. Once she tucked it beneath her head, she sleepily said, "Goodnight, Noah."

"Sleep well, Rach," he answered.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the fact that he would probably have been more comfortable stretched out and reclined in the front seat rather than cramped in the back, and listened as Rachel fidgeted, flipping from side to side, tucking and retucking the shirt beneath her head. After about 20 minutes of the sound of the sleeping bag zipper clanging as she tossed restlessly, Puck felt like strangling her. "Hey," he began, "how 'bout I stretch out and you slide in between my legs? I'll lean against the door, you lean against me?"

Rachel looked at him, her face unsure. "You think it will be more comfortable?"

"It's either that or sleeping in the front seats."

"Oh, no," Rachel shook her head. "I feel too exposed to prying eyes asleep up there."

Puck pushed his sleeping bag aside and motioned for her to move so he could stretch out. Once his legs were across the seat, he patted the cushion between his thighs and Rachel slipped between them. After she was situated between his thighs, her back pressed against him, he pulled one of the blankets over them.

"This is much better," Rachel admitted with a sigh.

Puck, however, wasn't so sure. He could smell her shampoo and feel her bare thighs rubbing against his, her ass brushing against his dick, and the whole thing seemed like a _really_ bad idea. Maybe he should've just driven them on to a hotel. He probably wouldn't have gotten caught driving without a license and then, he'd still be tortured by Rachel (post-shower, wet, silky skin, puckered nipples, and _shit_, he needed to stop_...) _but at least then she wouldn't be _quite _so close. But then Rachel let out a contented little sigh and her hand dropped to his knee. "Noah?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you a question that I've wanted to ask for 10 years?"

"Uhh," Puck began, unsure of where she was going. "I guess… Sure."

"I doubt you'll even remember that it happened but anyway...why'd you kiss me in the eleventh grade?"

Puck closed his eyes, remembering the day she'd shown up stressed out and fighting with Finn. "Because I wanted to," he finally said.

"But it was like it didn't happen. I always thought you'd mention it again but you never, ever did. Your reaction always perplexed me."

"You were with Finn," he explained quietly. "I knew you'd go right back to him and you did. It was just a spur of the moment thing anyway…. Shit, I was 17, Rachel."

Rachel nodded, her head rolling against his chest as she did so. "I always thought you'd do it again," she admitted.

"I could've," Puck admitted. "But I didn't want Finn's fist in my face again. Once was enough."

Rachel turned her head toward him, her eyes open wide despite her apparent exhaustion. He let his eyes meet hers before dropping his gaze to linger on her lips for just a second before looking up at her again. His hazel eyes were full of questions as he tilted his head down toward hers. Rachel watched his lips as they slowly angled toward her but then she pulled back and away, breaking the spell he had over her.

"We shouldn't," Rachel said, the breathlessness in her voice betraying the rapid pounding of her heart. "It would complicate things."

Puck nodded and looked away with a sigh. "You're right. It would. Go to sleep."

Even though her heart was thumping wildly and her mouth was dry, Rachel turned her head away and closed her eyes. They shouldn't complicate things. They _couldn't_.

…

Hours later, Rachel woke up when a car door slammed nearby. She blinked a few times and gazed out the window. Other than a car about seven spaces away from theirs, they were alone. She shifted slightly and then became aware of the position of Puck's hand. It was splayed across her lower belly, his middle and index finger brushing against her pubic bone. She could feel the pads of his fingers pressing into her skin through her thin shorts and panties and she knew that, in sleep, he'd felt the need to hold onto something. She turned her head carefully and looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his head leaning half against the edge of the seat and half against the cold window. Rachel hoped that this would be their first and last night of sleeping in a car because the close proximity of him was clouding her head.

Rachel faced forward again and pressed herself more fully against his back. He was warm and solid and one arm was around her waist in a protective hold that made her feel safe. The other though, with those fingers pressing against her, was distracting.

She forced her eyes closed and tried to fall back to sleep but Puck chose that moment to shift slightly, sending his hand even lower on her body. Rachel sucked in a breath as she felt his fingers brush against her most sensitive spot and, even through her clothes, it made her entire body hum. She shifted up just slightly, barely noticeable, and his fingers drifted a few centimeters south and _exactly_ where she wanted them. She closed her eyes and sighed for a moment at the feeling before realizing what she was doing. _Trying to use a sleeping man's fingers to self-pleasure, Rachel? Really? _

She wiggled her hips in an attempt to sit up but when Puck's body tensed behind her and his fingers slid away from the part of her that was burning and instead gripped her hip, she realized he was awake. She tilted her head at him and saw that his eyes were open and dark. Even in the shallow light of the street lamp that hung above their car, she could see that his eyes were flickering with desire. When their gazes locked in the near-dark, he bent his head toward her and ran his lips along her cheek and down to her jaw.

"What about not wanting to complicate things, Noah?" she rasped, her eyes fluttering closed against the sensation of his mouth ghosting over her skin.

Puck didn't answer at first. Instead, lifted his hand to turn her head more fully toward him. "S'already fuckin' complicated, Rach," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. And then he kissed her.


	7. Chapter 7

It quickly became apparent to Rachel that if there was one thing that Noah Puckerman was an expert at, it was pretending that kisses never happened. As Rachel sat on the picnic table, her Excel spreadsheet open to their trip planning worksheet (she was _always _prepared), she eyed Puck out of the corner of her eye. He was several yards away, talking quietly into his phone to, Rachel assumed (hoped), his mother and _not_ Santana.

While she worked to focus on the numbers in front of her, she thought back to overnight, backseat kiss. It has been deep and heated for a few seconds. His mouth was needy, his lips rough and wet as he came in again and again, sampling the curves of her lips and the slickness of her tongue before intensifying and backing off only to start over again. But just as fast as it started, it ended. He'd pulled away abruptly, announced that he had to take a piss, and bolted from the car. When he returned, he tugged Rachel against him without a word, threw a blanket over both of them, and fell asleep like he hadn't just shaken her to a her very core with a kiss that left her uncomfortably aware and aroused. She couldn't understand how he acted as though nothing whatsoever had transpired between them.

When Puck ended his call a few minutes later, he dropped down onto the bench next to Rachel, straddling it, and stared at her. "So what's the verdict?"

Rachel let out a small chuckle. "The money is dwindling quickly and we have no destination in mind." Looking him squarely in the eye, she asked, "Where are we going, Noah?"

Puck pulled out his map from the stack of papers on the table and spread it open. He stared at it carefully for a moment and then said, "Well, we're just hundred miles or so outside of Denver now." He eyed the map again and then his gaze wandered across the large page. A smile crept onto his face and he jammed his finger down onto the map. "I think we should go _here_."

Rachel stared at where he was pointing before looking up at him. "Los Angeles?"

"Fuck yeah! LA, baby! You wanna sing, right? LA's your place."

Rachel chewed on her lip for a moment and then looked back up at him. "I will admit that Los Angeles _does _sound nice. And we couldn't possibly be any farther away from Lima at that point and that's a wonderful thing. But...we don't have enough money to get there and actually have a place to stay once we arrive unless we make some changes to our travel plans."

Puck sat back down next to her and stared at the number blinking at him from her Excel spreadsheet. "Shit… gas is fucking expensive," he observed.

Rachel laughed and rolled her eyes at him. "So are those disgusting fruit pie things you keep insisting we buy."

Puck glanced down the empty wrapper to the Hostess Apple Fruit Pie he'd eaten for breakfast and shot her a grin. "Whatever. That shit's delicious." His eyes darted back over to her spreadsheet. "So what's your plan?"

Smiling, Rachel said, "How'd you know I had one?"

Puck stood up and crossed his arms. "Baby, you plan everything. So what're we doing?"

"Well," Rachel began, "since you had the foresight to bring your camping equipment, we can stay at a campground and save money over a hotel. Before we left, I grabbed one of my father's travel magazines as a reference tool and when I was flipping through it this morning, I noticed that there was a campground guide in the back." Rachel grabbed the magazine and tossed it toward Puck. As he flipped to the Colorado section, Rachel said, "We should pick one of the small towns outside of Denver with a campground and see if we can't get some day work for a day or two. We should be able to make a fair amount of money and if we spend minimally, our funds won't be impacted. Now, I'm admittedly not thrilled about the idea of sleeping inside a fabric room within feet of potentially hundreds of other people and wild animals…but we all have to make sacrifices, I suppose."

Rachel sat back and looked at Puck expectantly. Looking up from the magazine, he said, "Rach, you're a fucking genius." Then he reached over and planted a kiss on her cheek before casually flipping through the guide. Rachel stared at him for the longest time before tugging her gaze away, confusion coursing through her all over again.

…

"You sure, Rach?" Puck's voice was full of doubt as Rachel drove them down the main street of Strasburg, Colorado. "This town is a shithole. It makes Lima look like Manhattan."

Rachel scoffed. The town wasn't exactly breathtaking but to Rachel, it looked comfortable. The main street was lined with old brick buildings that had obviously been kept with care. There were large barrels of potted plants along the narrow sidewalks and brightly-colored awnings providing shade along the streets. "Hardly, Noah. Besides, this 'shithole', as you so eloquently described it, is the only campground between here and Denver that meets our meager budgetary requirements. Besides," Rachel added, "I think it's quaint."

"How're we supposed to find work for a few days in a place like this?"

Rachel's eyes scanned both sides of the street and her lips curved into a smile. "Right there," she said, pointing. "There's the center of _this_ town."

Puck's eyes fell on a small, white building with a full parking lot. The local diner. "The Crispy Fritter", to be exact.

As Rachel pulled to a stop in front of the building, she was beaming. "We'll go in, inquire about some work, have some lunch, and then go set up at a campsite. I want to make sure we're all settled by nightfall."

Puck climbed out of the car and followed Rachel inside the diner, his eyes tracing the way her hips and thighs moved as she purposefully strode inside the diner. She was wearing a pair of red shorts that came to mid-thigh and hugged her in all the right places. He'd forgotten how distracting her backside could be (which was just as distracting as the rest of her.)

When they stepped inside, Rachel stopped and eyed the woman behind the counter. Puck nearly groaned as he watched Rachel veer toward the woman because he knew what was coming.

"Excuse me? Hi, I hope you can help me," Rachel began, sliding casually down onto the stool that lined the old, 50s-style counter. The woman behind the counter was older and she had deep, tired lines around her eyes. Her lips were puckered in a way that told Puck that she was a lifelong smoker, too. "My friend and I," Rachel motioned toward Puck, "are from out of town and were hoping to secure employment for a few days. Do you happen to know where we might do that? I'm a skilled waitress and my friend is very strong and intelligent and could be helpful in a myriad of ways."

The woman smiled at Rachel like she had just given her a present. "You waitress? Oh, thank Jesus. Julie went off and got herself hitched in Vegas to that moronic Johnson boy. That kid doesn't even have shit for brains. Shit's too good to be in that head of his…. Anyway, she hasn't been here in four days. We're slammed because there's a rodeo in town. Stupid Julie and her stupid shithead husband will be back in two days but if you can waitress, you're hired."

Rachel beamed brighter and nodded eagerly. "And my friend?"

The woman grinned again. "My husband, Lucas, is the rodeo organizer. I bet he can find some work for your friend, easy!"

Rachel practically squeaked with excitement and wrapped her arm around Puck's bicep, tugging him down on to the stool next to her. "Don't you love when I'm right, Puckerman?"

Puck just nodded, his eyes on the words "country fried steak with gravy" that were written in under "daily special" on the chalkboard. "Yeah, Rach," he said absently as his stomach growled, "you're always right."

…

A few hours later, Rachel was organizing their camping equipment as Puck put up the tent. They'd stopped at a grocery store and got a few bags worth of food so that they wouldn't have to spend their money on dining out. Rachel was working at the diner from 10a-6p the next day and the waitress, whose name Rachel had learned was Betty, had arranged for Puck to catch a ride to the rodeo out at the fairgrounds with her husband in the morning.

Rachel hummed as she worked and Puck watched her out of the corner of his eye as he tried to remember which tent pole went where (it had been a _long_ time since he put up a tent.) He hadn't seen her that happy in a while and he knew it was because she was so pleased that her elaborate plan to make them some more money was working out so well.

Once Rachel was done, she kicked her sandals off and sat down on the picnic table. Puck watched as she flexed her toes and then closed her eyes and stretched. When her shirt rode up and bared a few inches of her bronzed skin, he inwardly groaned and looked away. He'd never get the damn tent up if he sat around mentally undressing her all day.

Minutes later, the tent finally popped into place and Puck stood back triumphantly. "Hell, yeah!" he said, pumping his fist. "I may have gotten kicked outta the Boy Scouts but you don't forget this shit!"

Rachel giggled at his exuberance and then offered him a bottle of cold water, which he took eagerly. He quickly popped off the cap and took a drink and Rachel found herself staring at the way the muscles in his throat worked as he gulped down the cool liquid. When a drop of water ran down his chin and then down his neck and into his shirt, Rachel practically shivered and pulled her eyes away.

"It looks good, Noah," she said of the tent. "Now, let's just put the sleeping bags in, start a fire, and relax. We actually have to get some rest tonight since we're supposed to be working tomorrow."

Puck nodded and grabbed the rest of the gear. When Rachel started humming again, he almost felt like humming along with her.

…

Tears streaked down Rachel's face as she laughed, her sides hurting. It was dark now and the fire in front of them crackled. Puck grinned and sipped from his Dr. Pepper as he watched the fire light flicker over Rachel's face. "Rach, d'you remember how, when the cops finally found her, Brittany told everybody she just wanted to see if there were alligators in the New York sewers?"

Rachel nodded, remembering their junior year trip to New York City for Nationals and how Brittany had wandered away from the group when they were in Times Square. She'd been found hours later, ten blocks south, covered in dirt and clutching a baby rat.

The two of them had spent the last several hours reminiscing over old times. Puck filled Rachel in on all he'd heard of their old Glee mates and she'd done the same. Rachel had to admit, as she watched Puck lean back on his elbows and stare up at the sky, that she was finally having a good time on this trip. When she felt Puck's eyes on her, she blushed in the darkness. His gaze was disarming. She continued to replay that kiss in her mind and she wondered if he had, too. And a huge part of her wanted him to do it again.

Puck pulled out his cell phone and looked at the clock. "We better turn in, Rach." He stood up and gathered their trash as Rachel tossed sand into the fire to put the flames out. When he crawled inside the tent and offered Rachel his hand, she took it and slid inside.

The tent was smaller than Rachel had realized and there wasn't much room for the two of them to spread out. Puck took the sleeping bag nearest the door but since it was warm, he stretched out on top of it. Rachel scooted in next to him and lay down flat on her back. It certainly wasn't comfortable, she realized quickly.

"G'night, Rach," Puck said softly as he shifted and rolled onto his side facing her.

Rachel could feel his breath on her face due to their close proximity and the kiss from the night before rushed back into the forefront of her mind. She sighed quietly and then said, "Sleep tight, Noah."

Ignoring the smell and the heat and the _pull _of the man who was so close by, she rolled as far away from him and possible and closed her eyes.

* * *

Rachel was never so thankful for rodeo cowboys as she was once her shift was over at the diner the next evening. Customers had been steady and the cowboys had been flirty and generous with her tips. When Puck walked into the diner and waved a $100 bill at her, Rachel beamed and took off her apron.

"See ya in the mornin'," Betty called. "And thanks again, Rachel!"

Rachel waved at her and then met with Puck as he stepped back outside. "How'd you do?" he asked as they climbed into the car.

Puck tossed his money at Rachel and she grabbed it and pushed it down into her purse. "I made $120, which isn't bad."

Puck nodded. "Shit, yeah. $220 for a single day? Awesome!"

Rachel smiled as she drove them back towards their campground. It had been a good day. They still had another day in town and then they'd be leaving. Rachel was relieved that they finally had a destination and she couldn't wait to get there. But right then, she was still having fun. Ever since they'd had their blowup, she felt like she was in a much better place where Puck was concerned.

When they got back to the campground, Puck excused himself and went to shower. Rachel tidied their campsite and then called her fathers to check in before digging out their dinner that consisted of fruit, crackers, and the copious amounts of junk food that Noah had insisted they purchase. She was rummaging through her own bags when Puck returned. His short hair was still damp and his skin glowed and for once, she allowed herself a moment to just appreciate the view. She was clearly attracted to him and was tired of denying it to herself. Her body stirred whenever he was near and since that was virtually all the time, she felt like she was on edge constantly. Had she had ten minutes to herself, she'd finally dig out her vibrator and relieve the never-ending ache that seemed to haunt her. But there was no time and not enough privacy and so she was forced to just deal with every brush of his arm against hers making her gut burn. Or the look in his eyes that made her breath quicken because she knew that he wanted her. He was easy to read when it came to that. He always had been.

After Rachel showered, they sat around the fire and ate. The sun was going down over Strasburg and the campground was starting to get busy with the noise and bustle that would keep it loud until the "quiet hours" were enforced at 11pm.

Rachel grabbed a book out of her bag and read through it while Puck sat on the other side of the fire, flipping through some old sports magazine he'd found crammed in the back of the trunk. Every few minutes, he found his eyes on Rachel, though. The small bit of wind that was blowing through the campground rustled her hair from her face long enough to expose her long, slender neck. He was avoiding her, yes. Had he not stopped himself two nights before, he would have fucked her in the backseat of his car like some horny teenager. And sleeping next to her last night had been absolute torture. The way she'd eagerly kissed him back told him that the desire wasn't one-sided but he still wasn't sure how to approach the subject. He didn't think "hey Rach, I'm sober this time. You wanna fuck me?" was a good opening line. But damn it all, if he didn't do something soon, he felt like he was gonna lose it. He'd never spent so much time around a hot chick and _not _fucked her. He was on new ground with Rachel and he _really_ didn't fucking like it.

Rachel felt Puck's eyes on her and she turned toward him. When he winked at her and went back to his magazine, she sighed and closed her book. It was early but she was exhausted. And maybe, she could fall asleep before he did and forget that he was sleeping beside her.

"Noah," Rachel said as she stood up. "I'm going to go ahead and go to bed. I'm really tired."

Puck nodded. "I'mma stay out here for a while longer."

"Okay… Goodnight."

Puck watched Rachel disappear into the tent and he sighed in relief. Once he made sure she had zipped the tent up tight, he stood up and stretched. He was gonna take a walk and not go to bed until much, much later. Maybe it would be easier to ignore how close she was if she was already asleep.

Hours later, after Puck had walked all around the campground and even stopped to play a game of late night basketball with a couple of other guys, he finally let himself into the tent. Rachel was curled into a small ball near the back end of the small enclosure. After kicking off his shoes and tugging his sweatshirt over his head, Puck settled in next to her and tugged the blanket over his body. Even though he wasn't touching her, the smell of her shampoo and the heat radiating from her body kept him company until he drifted off.

* * *

When Rachel woke up the next morning, she felt warmth against her back and realized that Puck was pressed against her. She turned her head toward him and saw that during the night, she'd somehow scooted back against him and he'd curled around her. His arm was now draped casually across her waist and his other arm was below her head, his hard bicep functioning as her pillow. His head was tilted down toward her and his lips were almost touching her hair. Rachel shifted slightly, her cheeks flushed at ending up in such a position with him when she felt like they were already teetering on the edge of the danger zone. As she moved, Puck woke up. He let go of her quickly and rolled away, turning to face toward the top of the tent.

"I think we should sleep in a hotel tonight," Puck rasped. "The ground is too fucking hard. I think my back's gonna break."

Rachel bit her lip as she stared upward. She wanted to ask him if he was as uncomfortable being as close to her as she was to him. And part of her wanted to roll over, straddle him, and tell him that they were two adults and there was no reason they couldn't have a physical relationship when they both obviously wanted it. It would make sense, after all. Actually, it would probably make them both feel better. She was beyond frustrated and she couldn't imagine that he felt any better if he was enduring even _half _the attraction for her that she was feeling towards him.

Puck and Rachel both stayed flat on their backs for a few more minutes, their ears tuned to the sound of the campers around them. Rachel's mind raced for a way to broach the subject of their obvious magnetism and Puck tried to figure out the most clandestine way to get a chance to jerk off before he exploded. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh because there was no way in _fuck _he was jerking off in a campground bathroom and crawled out through the tent's front flap, tossing over his shoulder that he had to piss.

When Puck came back, Rachel was rolling up their sleeping bags. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when he approached her and said, "I think you're right about the hotel. We can spare $40. We both need a good night's rest before we get back on the road."

Puck nodded, scratching his belly, and then ducked inside the tent to get dressed. They ate their breakfast quietly, both watching the movement of other campers around them instead of each other. Rachel couldn't help but wonder how long they'd last before they snapped. Puck wondered if he'd spend the entire trip thinking about fucking her without ever actually getting to do it.

…

9 hours and $153 dollars later, Rachel's short stint as a waitress at The Crispy Fritter was over. Once Lucas dropped Puck off at the diner, Rachel put all their money away and drove them to the tiny hotel on the edge of town. Puck checked them in and then they both walked into the small room, collapsing on the beds.

"I'm gonna go grab the bags," Puck said gruffly. Rachel threw her arm over her eyes, nodding silently. Her entire body ached from two nights of sleeping on the ground plus waitressing. She couldn't wait to fall asleep.

When Puck came back in, Rachel opened her eyes long enough to ask him to close the blinds. He did as she asked but then plopped down on the edge of her bed. "I'm bored," he whined.

"I'm exhausted," she countered.

Puck's hand fell to her knee, closing it around the soft skin he found there. When she didn't glare at him and shove it away, he suggested, "So let's get outta here for a bit. It'll wake you up, Rach. We're not leaving 'til morning anymore and if you wanna sleep in, we can. I saw a bar up the street. We could go there."

Rachel shook her head back and forth quickly, apprehension in her eyes. "No, that's not a good idea. You and a bar are a horrible, detrimental combination and I don't want a repeat of the other night."

Puck glowered at her and then reached for her, his fingers circling around her wrists to tug her into a sitting position. He ignored the deathly cold glare she shot him as she sat up and adjusted her shirt and said, "I'm not gonna fuckin' drink, Rach. But maybe we can play pool or some shit. Just to pass the time."

Rachel eyed him, her teeth pinching her lower lip with worry.

"C'mon, Rach. I _promise_ I won't fuck up. Please?"

Puck's eyes were wide and she could read the honesty in them. Finally, she relented. "Okay, Noah...but don't make me regret this."

"I won't," he assured her as he offered her his hand to help her up off the bed.

…

Rachel wasn't sure why in the world the local bar was named "Johnny Reb's" considering the racist connotations that the name conjured up but, she supposed, every small town had a history and this seedy little dive must be part of Strasburg's.

The dark room was thick with smoke and Rachel immediately regretted coming inside but Puck just tugged her along, her small hand locked inside his larger one. She let him lead her to a table near the pool tables and within minutes, he was engaged in a spirited game while Rachel sipped on a diet Coke and munched on pretzels.

As it turned out, Rachel realized, Puck was pretty good at pool. He sunk nearly every shot he took and Rachel found herself meeting his eyes more than once across the dank space. He'd grin and wink and she'd find herself blushing like a teenager before berating herself for having such a ridiculous reaction to someone she'd known since they both were tiny children.

After winning two games, Puck took a break and walked over to Rachel. Bending down, he grabbed the glass of soda he'd ordered earlier and took a big gulp. Once the glass was empty, he stopped over Rachel to drop the cup back on the table and without thinking, dropped a kiss against the top of her head. They both froze in place, her eyes on his and his, wide and stunned, staring back at her. Then, in the same frustrating manner as every other kiss they'd shared, he abruptly turned away without a word and went back to the pool table. If she didn't want to kiss him so badly, she'd throttle him for playing head games.

Despite the fact that Rachel was distracting him every single time she moved, Puck was still pretty proud of his game. He managed to kick some ass and make a little bit of money. But once he noticed a few of the guys in the bar eyeing Rachel like they wanted to claim her, he kept one eye on her and one eye on the eight ball. No, she wasn't his girl or anything but she was with him and he felt the need to protect her. And besides, she _was _his fucking territory in a way. She just didn't know it yet.

The evening turned to night as they sat around the bar. It got more and more crowded due to the visiting rodeo participants and spectators and, when it was nearing 10pm, Rachel began to yawn. Puck held up a finger to indicate that he just wanted to play one more game and Rachel nodded. When she heard a chair scrape across the floor, she looked to her right and noticed that a man was sitting down next to her. He was unshaven, older, and his eyes had a yellowish hue about them.

"Hey, darlin'," he wheezed. "You here alone?"

The hair at the back of her neck prickled and Rachel stiffened and shook her head. "No. My friend is playing pool."

The man glanced toward the pool table and then back at Rachel. She looked at Puck out of the corner of her eye and noticed that his movements had stilled, his eyes on her.

"You're pretty," the guy said. Rachel ignored him, pretending to be interested in the scratch patterns across the surface of the table in front of her. A few minutes passed where Rachel could feel the man's eyes on her and when he leaned in closer to her, her pulse quickened nervously. She didn't say anything, just met Noah's eyes across the room with a pleading gaze. "You wanna come home with me?" the man asked.

Rachel began to stand up, her senses screaming at her to remove herself from the situation, when the man's worn hand wrapped around Rachel's thigh. "I said I wanted to take you home, pretty lady," the man insisted. "You just gonna be a bitch and leave me?"

"Let go of me," Rachel ordered, her voice rising. "Let go of me _right_ this instant, you drunk asshole."

The man laughed and Rachel heard a pool cue hit the ground behind her. "Get your fucking hands off her."

Relief flooded through her at the sound of Puck's voice. The man, however, was undeterred. He stood up fully and his free hand settled on the base of Rachel's neck. "C'mon, baby," he pleaded.

"Let go of me!" Rachel demanded. When he didn't budge, Rachel swiveled quickly and kneed him in the groin. Her aim was off, though, as he moved and she ended up kicking him in the thigh.

"You little cunt," the man barked as he lunged for her. But before he could make contact, he went stumbling back across the room as Puck's fist made contact with his face.

All it took was one punch and a full-scale bar brawl erupted. Glasses went flying and Rachel watched in horror as the vile man's fist made contact with Puck's jaw. Puck broke free and tried to shove Rachel out of the way before he was dragged back by the man and then punched in the side.

Rachel watched in horror as two men ran behind Puck and grabbed him by the arms, pulling him away. The drunken man then turned and punched Puck in the stomach. Rachel felt sick, her eyes darting around frantically as she searched for something – anything – to help him. When she nearly tripped over his discarded pool cue, she snatched it up, zoomed over to where the toothless oafs were holding onto Puck, and smacked one over the head as hard as she could with the cue. The man howled in pain and let go of Puck, rubbing his head. The other one looked momentarily shocked but before he could react, Rachel took the blunt end of the cue and poked the man as hard as she could between his ass cheeks. He yelped and darted away and Puck used the distraction to slide away from the man who was coming after him again.

Behind her, Rachel heard a table crash and heard a loud, cursing yell. And then the door opened and two officers ran in. The fight stopped as quickly as it started.

"Earl!" the drunk who had hit on Rachel yelled. "This little motherfucker tried to kill me!"

The cop eyed Puck suspiciously and stepped forward. Rachel gasped when she realized that Puck was now bleeding from the cut on his cheek and another on his forehead. He was breathing heavily, his fists still balled and his jaw clenched, his eyes trained on Rachel.

"You starting trouble, son?" the sheriff asked.

"No, sir," Puck answered, looking away from Rachel long enough to answer. "Just defending my girlfriend."

Rachel had no time to even process what he'd just said, though, because the next thing she knew, the officer was tugging Puck's arms behind his back and locking metal handcuffs into place.

He was under arrest.

* * *

**A/N:** Johnny Reb's is the name of the bar in my shitty hometown. I've always hated it but it seemed appropriate here.

**Next up**: Steps in the right direction.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: I apologize for my lack of review replies. I've been getting to a few each chapter but then time just gets away from me and I can't get to them all. I suck and I'm sorry but I really, really appreciate all the reviews that continue to come in. I love my readers. You guys keep me going when I just feel like never opening up a Word document again! I send you hugs and kisses (and some of this insanely cold weather)!

Onto the story. Remember, we last left Puck in handcuffs!

* * *

Rachel stood dumbly inside the bar, the cogs in her brain seized up and stopped at the shock of seeing Puck shackled like a prisoner. It wasn't until she realized that the police officer was halfway out the door and Puck was disappearing with him that she shook herself out of her stupor, nervousness fluttering deep in her stomach at the idea of him going to jail, and knew she had to act immediately.

"Excuse me!" she shouted as she ran through the swinging door of the bar and out into the night air. The officer stopped, the back door of the cruiser open, and turned to look at her. Puck watched her carefully, his lips pursed in what looked to be stifled amusement, as she approached.

"Sheriff…" Rachel paused and read his nametag. "Sheriff Millman? Hello, I'm Rachel Berry and—"

The sheriff held up his hand. "Not now, lady. I gotta get this guy to jail and then get home."

Rachel dropped her hand to her hip and stared down the man. "Sir, I need to speak with you because my friend, the one that you have presently handcuffed like some wanted criminal, went out of his way to help me tonight. I'm wondering, Sheriff, if it's your normal habit to arrest the person who was trying to stop an assault instead of arresting the person who was attempting to actually _do_ the assaulting?"

Puck smirked because Rachel's tone? All business. She'd crossed her arms as she spoke and her small foot was making a _tap-tap-tap_ noise against the concrete. She was pissed. And he loved it. If anything was gonna save his ass, it was pissed off Rachel Berry.

Sheriff Millman looked at Puck and then back at Rachel. "This guy started a bar brawl, lady. I gotta take him in."

"He tried to _defend_ me, Sheriff. He was protecting my honor because that vile, disgusting dirt bag in there touched me inappropriately _despite_ my rather clear rejection of his advances. If my friend hadn't come to my aid, I might possibly have ended up assaulted or even raped. Can you, as a man who has sworn to protect and to serve, blame my friend for trying to safeguard me from such a horrible event?"

The Sheriff turned to look at Puck, a bewildered look on his face. Puck just shrugged. Dude was out of his element and it was fucking amusing.

Rachel tapped the man on his shoulder to return his attention to her. When he looked back at her, she stood as tall as possible and said, "Sheriff, I _must_ implore you to reconsider this arrest. If not, I'm going to stop by this lovely town's newspaper first thing in the morning and talk to the editor. I'm _sure _they'd love to know that the elected official in charge of this town's safety is more concerned with protecting his friends than with protecting the women of the community." Rachel paused and glanced at Puck. He gave her a barely perceptible nod and then fought back a grin when she said, "And you know what? This is _just _the thing that would enrage Katie Couric!"

Sheriff Mellman let out a frustrated breath. "Lady, if I let your friend go, will you shut up? Please?"

"Possibly," Rachel answered honestly. She watched the man walk behind Puck and quickly shove the key into the handcuffs and twist it, freeing him.

Puck rubbed his wrists once he was free and then the Sheriff said, "Look, just go back to your hotel and get out of here tomorrow. I don't want _no_ trouble from the newsman. That guy _hates_ me. He's supporting my opponent already and if you go in there and start spouting…" He looked at Rachel strangely, "…whatever it is you're spouting, he'll have my ass. If I don't get re-elected, Gladys said we're moving back to Montana to be closer to her mother. So I _gotta _win." He shuddered in revulsion as though the idea of living in close proximity to his mother-in-law was more than even _he _could handle.

Rachel just nodded, amusement no longer hidden. When the sheriff was done talking, his shoulders wilted. "Get outta here, kids." Then he turned and climbed into his cruiser, veering out of the parking lot rapidly.

Puck watched the lights disappear and then turned toward Rachel, sweeping her into his arms for a hug. "You," he said into her hair, "are fucking _incredible_."

Rachel allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his arms around her for seconds only before she pulled away, assessed the cuts on his face, and exclaimed, "You're injured, Noah! I've got to get you cleaned up. Let's go."

Puck let Rachel grab him by the fingers and tug him toward the car, a smile on his face. He was positive his ass was headed back to jail when the cop threw the cuffs on him and it would have sparked unending waves of bullshit thanks to the fact that he was already on probation. But from the moment Rachel stepped outside, he knew he was saved. Rachel Berry in action was the fucking sexiest, most amazing thing he'd seen in a long time. Relief thrummed through him at the idea of having and keeping her in his corner.

…

They made it back to the hotel quickly, Rachel unrelenting in her need to tend to his wounds. He tried to kick off his shoes and relax but Rachel let out a shriek from behind him. "Noah! Your back is bleeding!"

Before he could even react, his shirt was being shoved up and Rachel was pushing him toward the bed. "Sit," she ordered before she turned on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom. Puck tugged his shirt over his head and noticed the small blood spot on it near his left shoulder. He angled his back towards the mirror but he couldn't see any cuts or scrapes there and that's when he realized that it must have been someone else's blood. There were a shitload of fists flying at the time, after all.

When Rachel came back, she pushed a wet washcloth into his hands, her eyes darting away from his bare chest, and then grabbed her big overnight bag. Yanking the zipper down so hard that the bag nearly fell off the bed, she dug around for a moment before pulling out a small first aid kit.

Puck stayed silent as Rachel opened up the kit and removed alcohol wipes and bandages. She tugged the cloth from his hands and then moved to stand in front of him. When the wet cloth made contact with the cut on his forehead, he hissed slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. She eased her touch until she was barely ghosting the cloth over his skin as she removed the dried blood from around the wound. Then she moved onto the cut on his cheek, taking the same care.

Puck watched her eyes as she worked. She was completely focused on patching him up and she chewed her bottom lip in concentration. When she felt his eyes on her face, she looked away from his cuts and down at him, a smile twisting his lips.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothin'," he answered gruffly. "Just… thanks."

Rachel nodded and reached down to grab the Neosporin and a Q-tip. "It wasn't much…but I couldn't stand the thought of you going back to jail for only trying to protect me. Besides, I'm the one that should be thanking you. You saved me from what could have been a very unpleasant experience, Noah."

Puck tilted his head towards Rachel and she stilled her movements. "I wasn't gonna let anything happen to you. That dude was fucking _crazy_ if he thought he'd get very far. But it _was_ a big deal, Rachel." He leaned back and blew out a breath. "Not a lot of people stand up for me. I mean, shit… other than my mom and maybe my nana, nobody gives a shit. Hell, my own sister barely wants anything to do with me but you… I'm a fuck-up, I know…" He paused, his eyes searching her face as his mind grappled with the words. "But you see me fuck up and then you're right back there in my face, wanting to help all over again."

Warmth flashed into Rachel's eyes. "You're far more than just the mistakes you've made, Noah," she answered kindly before she gave him a small smile and returned to what she was doing. Puck closed his eyes against the burn as the Q-tip bit into the wounds, hissing again. "Almost done," Rachel assured him softly.

When she dropped the cotton swap onto the bed and reached for the bandages, Puck took the opportunity to put both hands on Rachel's hips and tug her between his splayed knees. She stilled her movements, hands halfway to his face, and looked at him questioningly.

"Seriously, Rach…you don't know what that meant to have you save my ass like that."

Rachel stared at him boldly and then placed her hands on his bare shoulders. "We're in this together, right?"

"Right," he rasped, his fingers tightening on her hips as he tugged her more closely to him. "Still…it was awesome. You're really great."

Rachel slid her hand up and cupped his cheek. Their eyes locked as she tipped her head toward him and then pressed her lips against his. It was a very brief kiss, very chaste, and she pulled away quickly and then stepped out from his grasp and bent to gather the trash.

"I take it you don't want any band-aids?" she asked, changing the focus away from the fact that she'd just kissed him.

"Nah," he said, his eyes following her across the room. "They're just small cuts."

When she disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door, Puck found himself grinning after her. Rachel Berry gave a damn. About _him_.

* * *

The next morning, Rachel was arranging their bags neatly in the trunk (like she did every morning) while Puck read the map and studied their next stop.

"Hey, Rach," Puck said casually, fighting to keep the map flat on the hood of his car as the wind blew over them. "Vegas is only 11 hours from here. If we drive most of the way today, we can make it there early tomorrow."

Rachel closed the trunk and walked around the front of the car. "Vegas, Noah? You want to go to _Las_ _Vegas_?"

"Hell, yeah! I haven't been in years. Last time, Finn, Chang, and I went. It was bitchin'! We went to this place called the Bu—" Puck seemed to reconsider his words, though, because he shut up quickly and said, "There's a lot of really cool shit to do in Vegas."

Rachel chewed on the end of her sunglasses and studied the map. "I've never been there," she admitted. "It always just seemed so tacky and full of people trying to make a quick buck."

Puck smirked and crossed his arms. "But what about all the shows? Hell, I figured you'd go just for all that performance shit. You should really check it out. You'd love it."

Rachel eyed him again and then looked down at the map. "Well, Vegas _is _the most direct route for us since our ultimate destination is Los Angeles."

Puck looked hopeful. "So… you're in?"

"Noah, need I remind you of our financial situation?"

"One night in Vegas won't kills us, Rach, I promise. C'mon," he nudged her with his shoulder. "Live a little, babe."

Rachel grabbed the map from him and began to fold it up. "Why not?" she agreed. "Let's go!"

Pumping his fist in victory, Puck pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. This trip may have started out shitty but it was getting better every day.

…

Rachel could feel Puck's eyes on her as she drove. She was humming along to the radio, attempting to focus on the pavement in front of her but it was difficult when his eyes were moving over her bare legs. It caused her to be exceptionally self-conscious and she began shifting in her seat uncomfortably. When his scrutiny was about to make her snap, she turned toward him and asked, "Can I help you, Noah? You've been staring at me for miles now."

Puck chuckled and glanced out the window. "No idea what you're talking about, Rach. Just minding my own business over here."

Rachel growl in frustration and sat up straighter in her seat, taking one hand off the wheel to tug her shorts down her legs more. Puck snickered from the passenger seat but didn't say anything.

Silence filled the car again and Rachel watched as Puck shifted in his seat, curling toward her in his favorite sleeping position. "Wake me up for lunch," he said sleepily.

Rachel bobbed her head but didn't respond because he was already half-asleep. His features went soft once he'd drifted off and Rachel eyed him, biting her lip as she did. He was so handsome, despite the fact that the hard life he'd lived had left lines around his eyes and nearly permanent creases in his forehead. And everything that had happened last night, from the moment the fight started until she'd finished taking care of his wounds in the hotel room, made her very aware of how involved she was in with him already. She was still furious about the fact that he'd gotten drunk on the trip but she knew that his alcoholism was rooted down deep and had taken hold years and years before. She knew he couldn't win the fight against the lure of forgetting his demons overnight but she knew he _wanted _to change and for now, that was enough. But when she'd witness the officer throw the cuffs on him and attempt to take him to jail, she'd lost it. She knew that enough people in his life had walked away without ever giving a damn about him and she couldn't - _wouldn't_ - be one of those people. She'd known Noah for far too long to just pretend that he was on his own. Not with her around. He had her back and she had his. She didn't know what that meant, exactly, but then again, the attraction she felt for him and the nearly ever-present need she had to touch him or to grab his hands and place them on her body told her that she was in deep than she'd ever anticipated. No, she hadn't planned on any of this when they started on their trip just days before but the fact that everything was so unknown – from what was happening between them to what they'd find once they reached Los Angeles – was thrilling to her. After years, or even a lifetime, of planning out every facet of her life, not planning much besides where to stop for gas next was invigorating. She'd always heard about people who "flew by the seat of their pants" and finally, she knew what that must feel like.

An hour later, Rachel's stomach growled. Happily, she spotted an exit ahead with several restaurants and then she exited the interstate, pulling to the stop in front of a comfortable, homey looking diner.

"Noah," Rachel said as she shook Puck awake.

Puck looked at her and then his head lulled to the side as he struggled to wake up. Exasperated, Rachel jerked her seatbelt off and climbed out of the car, walking to the passenger side and tugging open the door.

Reaching across him, she undid his belt and ordered, "C'mon, Puckerman! I'm famished! Move!"

Puck smiled up at her and his hands clamped down around her shoulders. Before she even knew what he was doing, he tugged her head toward him and kissed her soundly on the lips. Desire coiled at the base of her neck and slid down her body, forcing her to tremble. Puck felt her reaction and grinned against her lips, licking a wet trail across her bottom lip before pulling away completely.

"Been wanting to do that since last fucking night," he said as he watched her back up so that he could climb out. Once he slammed the door behind him, he grabbed her and pressed her against the car, taking her mouth again. Rachel moaned into the kiss, her arms gripping his t-shirt, her fists balling the fabric. When he pulled away, her legs were wobbling.

"We're not done," he promised. Then he grabbed her hand and tugged her inside the diner.

As Rachel slid into the bench across from him, she felt his eyes on her. When they met across the table, the look in them was purely animalistic. His gaze disarmed her and sent her breath whooshing from her body as the need that had settled into her belly flared to life.

Once the waitress brought them glasses of ice water and they ordered, they settled into mindless conversation. But with every gulp of his water, she watched his throat muscles move and appreciated the graceful movements of his muscles. Her awareness of every move he made told her, without a doubt, that it was going to be a long day.

…

The sky in front of them was turning red and golden when Rachel let out her first yawn of the evening. Puck knew that was her signal that she was tired of driving so he yanked the map out and looked for the nearest town.

"Rach, some little Podunk town called Richfield, Utah is up ahead about 10 miles. We can stop there if you want. You look beat."

Eyes watering, Rachel nodded. After lunch, they'd taken a walk around the park in the small town where they'd stopped so that Rachel could stretch her legs. She'd kept the conversation light despite the fact that she was so physically aware of him. When he suggested they get back on the road, she was more than ready to. She wanted to get to a hotel for the night and deal with the feelings coursing through her body. Whether that meant throwing herself at him or sneaking her vibrator into the shower, she didn't know. But if she didn't relieve the pressure she felt before the end of the day, she would surely lose her mind. Hours cooped up in a vehicle with someone who could kiss the thoughts right out of her brain had taken a toll.

The only hotel near the interstate was an Econolodge. It looked cleaner than some of the other places they'd stayed in and Rachel pulled the car to a stop quickly before digging through her purse and shoving some cash into Puck's hand. He eyed her curiously before bolting from the car. When he returned a few minutes later, he handed her some change and a key card as he told her their room number.

She parked the car and they removed their bags, walking briskly but silently toward the door. Puck watched Rachel out of the corner of his eye. As she stuck the key card in the lock and then jerked it out again, he noticed how tense she was.

"You okay, Rach?" he asked as he followed her into the darkened room.

Rachel nodded and dropped her bags on to the bed. "Just exhausted," she said. She unceremoniously flopped down onto the bed, kicking off her shoes and flipping on the television.

Puck busied himself with digging out one of his last remaining clean t-shirts. "Ya think this place has a washer and dryer? I need to do laundry. I didn't pack enough shit."

Rachel reached onto the side table and grabbed the guide to the hotel. "There's a laundry room on the second floor. If you want, we can wash our clothes in the morning before we head to Vegas. We're only about 3 hours away now, I believe."

"Sounds good," Puck said as he turned away. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "I'mma take a shower. You need in the bathroom first?"

Rachel shook her head no and Puck disappeared into the room, closing the door behind him. Once he was out of sight, Rachel curled up onto her side and watched a rerun of _Modern Family _on TV Land while she listened to Puck sing in the shower. The sound of him apparently happy brought a smile to her face. Momentarily, at least, it also dulled the yearning humming through her veins.

Twenty minutes later, he emerged in clean clothes and with wet hair. Rachel sat up on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair nervously, watching him move around the room. When he turned toward her, he dropped his hands to his hips and looked at her pointedly.

"Can we stop pretending?" he asked, the words coming out rougher than he intended.

"Pre—pretending?" Rachel stuttered, her eyes shifting from him to the television and back again.

"Yeah, you acting like you don't want me to rip your clothes off and me like I'm not fucking _dying _to fuck you… I can't handle it anymore. We can't go one more fucking mile without dealing with this, Rach." He quickly closed the gap between them and tugged her off the bed so he could sink his fingers into her hair, pressing his lips against hers brutally. Rachel squeaked and her eyes went wide before she let them drift closed and gave into the kiss. The desire and burn she'd felt for days swirled through her veins and she responded with all she had, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him back with fervor. She boldly inched her tongue out and prodded his lips. A growl escaped from deep in his throat when she darted her tongue inside his mouth and then she felt herself moving until she was pressed against the wall.

Their teeth mashed together as their tongues dialed, both pulling back for air before crashing together again and again, until Puck was already hard as steel and Rachel felt the shock of warm wetness between her thighs. Puck pulled away to gulp for a breath and when he did, he noticed the flush across Rachel's face and down her neck. "Fuck, _yes, _we gotta stop pretending," he rasped. Rachel saw the heat surge into Puck's eyes like a flame, his eyes roving over her body again and again, and when she could no longer endure his scrutiny without reacting, her fingers went to the hem of her shirt and gripped the fabric. Her gaze held his as she jerked the top over her head and then tossed it to the floor. She turned her head to unclasp her bra and when she found his eyes again, he was standing in front of her, pushing the bra from her body. His hands glided over her breasts and down her belly, his pupils dilated, and then her jerked her against him. Rachel mewled as the hair on his chest rubbed against her nipples and then he took her mouth again.

She was incinerating. She was going to go up like a torch from the way his mouth mimicked what his body was going to do to hers. The thrust and glide of his tongue taunted her, forcing any control she had left to crumble and erode away like sand in a windstorm. Her fingers found the buttons of his shorts and began working them, hell-bent on getting him out of his clothes and into _her_ as soon as possible. She got the first button undone but her shaking fingers tangled up in the second one and her mouth opened in frustration as she fumbled. "Dammit!"

Puck chuckled at her outburst and swatted her hands away, opening his shorts for her. As he pulled his shirt over his head, he felt her hands grasping the sides of the fabric and then shoving all of it down his hips and then – wetness. He frantically yanked the shirt away, his ear getting caught in the collar as he worked to free himself from the fabric, so that he could watch her gorgeous mouth take his flesh deep, deep, deeper until the heat from the back of her throat scorched his sensitive head.

Puck's head lulled back for a few seconds as the suction and slip of her mouth first captivated him and then threatened to end it all before he'd even made it inside her. Regaining enough control to stop her before he shot his load down her throat, he slid his hands into her hair "Nu uh," he grunted, pulling her mouth off him quickly, "don't wanna… not yet. Not ready."

Rachel's eyes found his again as his hands bracketed her hips and then dipped inside her shorts, sliding easily beneath the thin fabric of her panties. He cupped her rear, his hands covering the small, fleshy globes perfectly, and he squeezed for just a second before releasing her to let one hand wander to the front, where his fingers found her more than ready for him.

"Condom," Rachel wheezed, her mind already splintering as his fingers slipped against her swollen nub.

"Got one," Puck rasped just as Rachel pushed his hand aside and sent her shorts and panties flying towards the floor.

Puck pulled her to him and Rachel gasped. He was thick and hard and pulsing between her thighs and if he wasn't inside her in three seconds, she was afraid she'd shatter without ever having felt his body inside hers.

"Noah, condom. _Now,_" she ordered.

Puck was reluctant to let go of her, his lips busy skimming against the skin of her neck, breasts, and collarbone, biting with his teeth and then sucking the flesh into his mouth before releasing it with a wet pop. When Rachel squeaked in protest and pressed her hips against him in a silent plea for more, he tore his lips from her skin and grabbed his shorts, fumbling to find the small package tucked within his wallet. When his fingers gripped it and he turned around, Rachel had moved to the bed and was lying back, her elbows propping her up as her legs dangled off the edge of the mattress.

She was fucking gorgeous. All olive skin, small, perfect breasts tipped with hard, brown nipples, a flat abdomen, smooth stomach, and a narrow strip of hair that made his nostrils flare. Rachel watched the desire wash over him and spread her legs slightly, keening, "Now. _Please_…"

She was on fire. She was losing her head and the throbbing inside her was taking over. She watched Puck's long fingers tear open the package and slide the condom down, down and then stroke himself as he moved toward her. He moved her back onto the mattress with his free hand and then he was on his knees between her thighs. He pulled her legs apart, angling one of her knees up and out of the way, and then he pushed inside her.

The sound that tore from her lips – a half-grunt followed by his name – was anything but demure. But suddenly he was buried to the hilt and Rachel was so full that she couldn't tell where he stopped and she started. She squeezed her muscles around him and the string of swears that left his throat sent a thrill through her body. Puck wasted no time and the pace he set up was a frantic one. He gave and she took, his hands holding onto her hips to angle her body toward him. He pushed into her and she arched hard, pulling him as deep as he would go. She linked her fingers through his as he frantically sank deeper and deeper, pushing her higher and higher. Her free hand found his shoulder and her nails dug in as she held onto him. If she didn't anchor herself she was afraid she'd fly up and away from the heady, dizzy feeling that had taken over her mind as he took possession of her body like it was his to own. She couldn't breathe; she couldn't think. The only awareness she had was of his hardness inside her and the way he continued to drive her towards the brink of sanity. And then he was dropping his body on top of hers, pulling her legs up to hook around his hips, and shoving himself inside her so deeply and so fast again and again that she let out a series of guttural cries, bowed off the bed, and exploded beneath him, thousands of little lights dancing behind her eyelids. She knew he was gone, too, because she felt his body swell and then pulse as his fingers gripped her hips so hard that she knew he'd leave a mark. But it was his voice chanting her name again and again as he let go that sent her soaring higher and into another orgasm.

Puck stayed buried inside her until she'd stopped quivering around him and his own throbbing had ceased. Weakened and with an erratic heartbeat, he pressed his face against her breast and held onto her tighter than he needed to. She wound her fingers through his short hair, gripping his scalp, and angled herself upward to press a soft kiss against his forehead. He smiled into her breast and found the strength to pull out of her, ignoring the need to be back inside her nearly as soon as she was no longer gripping him, and removed the condom. Then he crawled onto the bed, pushed back the covers, and pulled her against him. She rolled onto her stomach and pressed her breast against his chest, one arm tucked beneath her and the other one snaking around his neck. Puck's arm drifted up and closed over hers as he breathed in the scent of her, all shampoo and sex, and closed his eyes. When she let out a contented little sigh and whispered, "That was a long time in the making," his heart thumped deep inside his chest and he knew that he was lost. He wasn't sure if it happened when she saved his ass from going to jail or when they were frantically pushing each other towards the brink but he knew that a little piece of him now belonged to her. And he had no idea how he felt about it or even worse, what the hell he was supposed to do about it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I apologize for not getting this up sooner. I have two valid excuses, though, I promise. The first is another crippling case of writer's block. I'm getting it more and more these days and I don't know what to do about it! And the second reason is that I was completely distracted by the Lost in Lima Role Play Game over on Tumblr. If you aren't already following it, you should. It's a Puckleberry RP and it's absolutely addicting!

Anyway, here's the chapter – FINALLY.

* * *

"Noah, we really need to be getting some sleep because we have to check out in seven hours and if we don't, we're going to spend our entire day exhausted, which I'm not su—"

"Rach, can you shut up for a minute? I'm tryin' to do something here."

"What in the world are you trying to do? I can't even see you. Where'd you go? It's entirely too dark in here and I—Oh! _Ohhhh_…"

"_Now_ will you shut up?"

"Abso_lute_ly."

…

When light began to bleed through the curtains, Rachel groaned and tugged the pillow over her head in an attempt to block out the morning. Next to her, Puck let out a throaty chuckle. Peeking out from beneath her blanket, she glowered at him. "What's so funny? It's not like you got any sleep either. Goodness, Noah, I can't believe it's morning all ready!"

Puck slid further beneath the blankets, hauling them higher over their heads before turning toward Rachel, his nose just inches from hers. "We can stay for another day, you know. Sleep all day then head to Vegas tomorrow?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, we need to get our laundry done and get moving. We're so close to our destination." Pushing the covers back, she rolled over flat onto her back and winced. Puck watched her with a cocked eyebrow and a look of amusement on his face. "Y'okay?"

"Sore muscles," Rachel admitted, her face flushing as memories of the night before somersaulted through her mind.

Puck's eyes traveled over her body and he noticed the tiny red mark, a telltale sign of whisker burn, next to her left nipple. He bent, ready to soothe the spot with his mouth, when Rachel's hand caught his shoulder, effectively stopping his movements, and she shook her head. "_No more sex_, Puckerman. We've got to do laundry and then we must get on the road! We're too close to finally arriving to dawdle now."

Grumbling under his breath, Puck climbed out of bed and looked around the hotel room, trying to locate the clothes that had been quickly cast off the night before. Rachel watched the muscles in his thighs, behind, and back, ripple and move as he bent and snagged his clothing. When he turned to face her, he caught her wide eyes, parted lips, and irregular breathing and smirked. "Enjoying the view?"

Rachel tore her eyes away from his naked body, stretching like a cat and arching her back to release some of the tension in her stiff, pained muscles as she groaned out, "Immensely."

Puck pulled his shorts and his t-shirt on and then dropped to his knee on the bed, dipping his head to kiss Rachel. Rachel shuddered against him and snaked her arms around his neck, tugging him back down into the sheets with her. He nipped at her lips and let his open palm slide down her abdomen toward her belly. When he was almost exactly where he wanted to be (and where he _knew _she wanted him), Rachel shook her head and pulled away. "_Stop_ trying to tempt me, Noah! We have things to do!"

Puck disengaged regretfully and stood back up. "Babe, you're tired. Sorry I kept you awake all night. Well…actually…I'm _not_ sorry because that was fucking epic but…" A smile overtook his face and when he glanced at Rachel, she was watching him pensively. "Why don't you take a nap? Lay in bed. Be lazy. I can do our laundry."

Rachel bit her lip as she rolled onto her side and pulled the covers back over her body. "Really? You don't mind?"

"Nah. You're doing the driving. Lemme do it, okay?"

Nodding, Rachel said, "Everything in my bag should probably be washed at this point. Here, let me get it."

She began to get up but Puck raised his hand to stop her, saying, "I got it, babe. Stay in bed."

Stretching back out again, Rachel watched as Puck grabbed her bag, unzipped it, and dumped the contents out onto the bed. To her horror, her vibrator rolled out and landed on the bed with a soft, heavy _thud. _Puck looked down at it and then up at her, his lips twisted into a grin. "Used this thing lately?" he asked in a low voice, his fingers curling around it. When he looked up at her, his face was a mix of annoyance and desire.

Rachel's face flamed red and she shook her head. "No… I… I hadn't had the chance since we began the trip, actually."

"But if you coulda found the chance, you woulda used it, right? And why hadn't you found the chance?" Puck glanced down at the base of the toy and then back up at Rachel. "This thing says it's waterproof. Coulda fired this baby up in the shower." A shudder ran through him and his nostrils flared. "_Fuck_, that's hot."

"Shut up, Puckerman!" Rachel buried her head under the covers for a moment and then peeked out at him. "While I don't feel like discussing my self-pleasuring methods with you at the moment, I will admit that yes, I was considering using it…but _you_ got to me first."

"And now you don't need it at all, right?" Puck prodded, his hand twisting the base so that it shot to life, filling the room with the sound of vibration.

Rachel reached out to grab it from him, turning it off. Tossing it back on the bed, she said, "You're right, I don't need it now, unless last night and this morning was a one-night only thing." Puck watched the toy bounce across the blankets and then his eyes landed on Rachel's face.

"One-time only thing? You fucking _kidding_ me? Besides, I think it stopped being a one-time thing after the _first _time, right? And what was that, like, four times ago?" Puck smirked at Rachel and she bit her lip against the smile that threatened to break the tough, schedule-driven exterior she was trying to convey. She nearly groaned, though, because his eyes were dark, his chest rising and falling irregularly as he eyed her.

"I know that look, Noah. We _don't _have time!"

Ignoring her protests, Puck snagged the vibrator again and crawled onto the bed, pushing the blankets down and exposing Rachel's naked body to the chilly room. He watched her nipples pucker as his mouth went dry and then reached down and turned the vibrator on again, dragging it against the soft flesh of Rachel's thigh. She jerked against the sheets and wound her arms around his neck, her head lulling back.

"See," Puck said as he leaned into her, gently flicking the very tip of his tongue against that sweet spot right where her shoulder met her neck, "I knew you'd give in. We've _always_ got time for this."

…

An hour later, Rachel was climbing out of the shower as Puck started the laundry. Rachel flinched in pain as she propped her leg up on the toilet seat to wipe the water droplets from her skin. As she toweled off, she looked at herself in the mirror. Stubble burn on her breast, on her collarbone and – _wait_… Was that a hickey on her thigh? Heat sliced through her as the feel and the sounds of the night before rushed back into the forefront of her brain.

_Her fingers dragging along Puck's shoulders, marveling at how soft the skin was that covered the hard, sinewy muscles._

_His mouth finding the spot in the crease of her thigh that made her gasp for breath before winding her fingers into his hair so that she could press him in closer._

_Her smooth legs rubbing against his hairy ones as he caught her arms above her head, rendering helpless against his measured, deep thrusts._

Rachel closed her eyes against the onslaught of imagery and let a shudder of desire overtake her. When she opened them again, she noticed the soft pink of her cheeks and shook her head. "Leave it to you," she told herself in the mirror, "to become romantically entangled with the _one_ man that could do serious damage to your already tender heart."

But as she combed her hair and then applied her moisturizer, she realized that she felt lighter. Yes, her situation wasn't any better than it had been the day before. She was still a monumental failure at life. Somehow, though, she felt better about everything. Maybe it was because she was so sexually satisfied that she was temporarily physically unable feel frustrated. Or maybe it was because, for what felt like the first time, she didn't feel like she was totally alone in the world. Her fathers and Quinn had been there for her, sure, but had they understood her? Not really. They were more concerned with offering her advice rather than just supporting the fact that she had dreams that she wasn't willing to give up. But did Noah "get" her? Rachel thought her did. And maybe it wasn't that he even understood her at all but that he didn't judge her. And after years of struggling to make it in New York, it was refreshing to not be judged for once.

Rachel slipped her legs into her panties and tugged them over her hips, allowing herself to enjoy the burn of the overworked muscles in her thighs. As she clasped her bra around her back, the thought of "what are we?" flitted through her mind. At the same time, she heard the door to the room open and knew that Puck had returned. She heard him flop back onto the bed and flip on the TV and she smiled. It was nice having him around. She never imagined that they'd connect like they had but she'd take it. And she knew that there was no way in _hell_ she was posing the question about their relationship to him after just one night between the sheets.

With a hum on her lips, she opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out. She felt Puck's eyes on her as she moved and then she sat down on the bed beside him. He scooted over and tugged her back with him, tucking her against his body. "Laundry's goin'. Shit's expensive. $2 to wash and $1.50 to dry per load. Highway fucking robbery," he complained.

Rachel reached up and patted his cheek like she was soothing a child before closing her eyes and pressing herself against him. Puck's hands tangled in her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp, as she lay silently beside him.

"Noah?" Rachel asked gently a few minutes later.

"Hmm?" he breezed, his eyes on the TV.

"When we get to LA…how long are we staying?"

Puck shifted against the pillows and then hit the "mute" button on the remote, silencing the TV. "Forever, as far as I'm concerned," he answered honestly.

Rachel nodded against his chest and dropped her arm across his chest. "Thank God. I didn't think you were eager to return to Lima but…" Opening her eyes, she tilted her head up and met his gaze. "I think that you were right the other day. If I'm going to try to be a successful performer again, Los Angeles is the next best place to be besides New York. I _have_ to give it a chance."

Puck unmuted the TV and dropped his chin on top of Rachel's head. "Well, babe, I guess we're staying once we get there."

And as easily as that, it was settled. They were leaving Lima for good, for at least a while. Maybe LA would be more welcoming to both of them. And maybe they could put their pasts behind them and start again. What better place to do it than LA?

* * *

"Noah, where exactly are we going?"

Puck could barely hear Rachel over the dull roar of the congested lobby of the hotel. Ignoring her, Puck tightened his fingers around hers and dragged her along behind him. Once they'd slipped from the lobby into the Luxor casino, Puck stopped and pulled Rachel close to him to keep her out of the way of the crowds.

"Welcome to Vegas, baby," Puck said, his voice as loud as possible as his eyes surveyed the machines, flashing lights, and huge crowds inside the casino on that summer day. Glancing down at Rachel, he was frustrated to see that she was completely unimpressed.

"Why are we here?" she asked. "We can't afford to do any gambling, Noah."

Puck stuck out his lower lip in a slight pout as he watched an ancient woman pressing the "spin" button repeatedly on a slot machine a few feet away. "C'mon, Rach. Loosen up! Live a little. We're in _Vegas. _We have to gamble, at least a little. It's, like, required." Puck elbowed Rachel in the side and she jumped, turning to scowl at him.

"It's completely irresponsible! We're on a limited budget already and you want to gamble?" Rachel's hands dropped to her hips and she stared him down, her eyes hot with irritation.

Puck, never a guy to be deterred by a challenge, licked his lips and stepped up to Rachel, towering over her. As he peered down at her, he gave her his sexiest smile and let his fingertips gently dance over the backs of her hands before stroking up her arms and back down again. "Baby, please? I'm only asking for $50. And I promise you, I'm _good_ at roulette. If I lose it, I won't ask for any more. But there's a good chance I'mma win. And then, we'll have even more money to use in LA."

Rachel cocked her head to the side and stared at him. "Touching me like you are isn't gaining you any points, Puckerman. It's actually just distracting. And do you really think you can win? I know it's only $50 but we have so little and if we're going to actually stay in LA for a little bit, we need every single dime we can get. I just don't think that it's a wi—"

Puck dove in at that moment, pressed his lips against Rachel's, and grinned against her lips when she melted into his kiss. When he pulled away, he asked, "Please? Just $50? We're in Vegas, baby! We gotta experience a little of the nightlife! You've spent too much of your life with a stick up your ass."

Rachel sputtered, her eyes narrowing before she finally laughed and leaned against him. His arms circled her waist and she sighed, enjoying the new intimacy that they shared. "Fine," she agreed, her voice slightly muffled against his t-shirt. "But only $50."

Puck kissed the top of her head. "S'all I need, baby. Trust me."

…

Rachel watched in awe as Puck sat at the roulette table inside the Luxor. She'd never been to any form of gambling establishment in her life and, naturally, had no idea what was going on. All she did know was that, from the smile on Puck's face and the growing pile of chips in front of him, he was doing well. She eyed him curiously as a waitress stepped up and offered him a glass of what looked like bourbon. He paused, his eyes settling on the amber liquid. Rachel watched as a conflicted, almost pained, look came over his face. His brow furrowed and he squinted, staring at the glass in front of him for a heartbeat before he glanced at Rachel and then shook his head at the waitress. Rachel read his lips as he said, "No, thanks" and then felt her heart swell when the waitress walked away, the glass still on her tray. Puck glanced sheepishly at Rachel and then motioned for her to come nearer.

Rachel squeezed herself between him and a boozy, buxom blond and he put an arm around her. "Up to $500, baby. I told you, I _got_ this shit."

Rachel nodded and watched as the game resumed. When the number was 28 black and Puck cheered and took more chips from the dealer, Rachel found herself winding her arms around his neck as she watched. After a few minutes of observation, she realized that whatever Noah was doing, it was working.

"17 red!" the dealer called a few minutes later.

"Fuck," Puck muttered, slapping his hand against the table.

"You lost?" Rachel was floored.

"I know. _Shit_."

Rachel bit her lip at the pained look on Puck's face. "Does that mean we're done here?"

Puck looked down at his stack of chips. After quietly counting them, he grabbed them and shoved them into Rachel's hand. "$775, Rach. I say we quit while we're ahead."

Rachel stared down at the chips, her eyes wide, and then glanced up at Puck. "Are you serious, Noah? You won that much?"

Puck slid off his stool and nodded to the dealer before winding his arm around Rachel's waist and guided her through the crowd while her fingers gripped the chips tightly. When they made it to the cashier's window, Puck took the chips from her, slid them through the window, and grinned when the money came back out toward him. Turning towards Rachel, he handed her $600 and said, "Keep it for LA. This, though," he held up the other $175, "I'm using to take us to dinner and then to take you to one of these damn shows."

Rachel grinned at him, clapping her hands together. Las Vegas wasn't so bad, after all.

…

"Who knew that Celine Dion had another Vegas show?" Rachel said as she and Puck left the theater a few hours later. Night had settled over Vegas and the stifling heat had finally given way to just being uncomfortably warm.

Puck shrugged. "She's, like, 70 now, Rach. What else is she gonna do?"

"She's nowhere near that age, Noah Puckerman! She was amazing. You saw so yourself."

Silence settled between them as they walked back toward the Luxor. The crowds on the city streets were still thick and they were jostled by tourists heading to their next destination. As they approached the New York, New York hotel, Rachel looked up at the faux statue of Liberty and let out a painful sigh. "I miss home."

Puck tugged her closer, tucking her under his arm, and asked, "You wanna go inside? I've never been but I'm sure there's New York shit galore inside. I mean, I know it's not the same but it's as close as you can get since you're on the other side of the country."

Rachel shook her head, "No, that's okay. It's just… I miss the city and my life there. I miss the bustle and the fact that things never slowed down, really. It was such a vibrant place…but also painful. I miss the challenge and the idea that tomorrow, everything could change and I'd suddenly be on top of the world instead of at the bottom of the heap."

Puck listened to the wistful, longing sound in Rachel's voice and quickly swung in front of her, grasping her hips tightly in his hands. When she met his eyes, he smiled. "You're _gonna_ be on top, Rach. Maybe not tomorrow or next week but you're gonna be. You used to believe that and yeah, it was annoying as hell at the time because you never shut up about it but we all put up with it because we knew it was true. Even Kurt and Mercedes, who were jealous bitches most of the time, couldn't deny that you were gonna be a star. It was pure truth."

Rachel started to open her mouth but Puck shook his head. "It's _still_ true. Yeah, life's been a bitch to you and shit hasn't worked out but who doesn't that happen to? We're gonna go to LA and we're gonna stay for a while, okay? I'll get a job and you'll go to auditions and it's…" Puck paused and watched as a street performer set up on the corner before turning back to Rachel. "It's gonna be awesome. You're gonna be on top, Rach. And not just on top of me," he added.

Rachel was torn between smacking him for ending his wonderful words with a sexual comment and kissing him. She finally settled on the latter, snaking her arms around his neck and tugging him against her. When they parted minutes later, she demanded, "Let's go to our room."

Grinning like he'd just won more money, he grabbed her hand and tugged her after him. They made their way quickly back to the Luxor and Rachel felt like her arm was going to be dislocated from its socket as Puck pulled her into the elevator.

Once they were inside, he pressed the button for their floor and then, despite the fact that they weren't alone, used his large frame to press Rachel against the back wall of the elevator.

She looked up at him and watched his pupils dilate. The need she saw in his eyes sent a bolt of heat zinging through her body, leaving her unable to look away.

Puck leaned forward, dropped his head so that she could hear him, and whispered, "I want you."

Her tongue suddenly feeling too thick and awkward to speak, she nodded weakly and nearly groaned when he pressed his lower half against her. Puck dipped his head and brushed his lips along her jaw, tugging her earlobe between his teeth, before pulling away, just as the elevator slowed to a stop on their floor.

Rachel nearly darted from the elevator, digging into her pocket to pull out the keycard. By the time Puck had caught up with her, she was shoving the door open and zipping into the room.

Puck closed the door with his heel and then spun the deadbolt. They definitely weren't going back out that night. When he turned around, Rachel was tugging her shirt over her head and then pushing her short and panties down. Puck stood and watched as she tossed off her bra and then stood naked in front of him, her nipples already pebbled and her breathing labored.

"In a hurry?" he drawled, desire thick in his voice as his eyes settled on the trimmed hair above her sex.

Rachel walked quickly up to him, fisting his shirt in her hands, and pulled him farther into the room. When she pushes his shirt up and dragged her nails across the skin of his back, Puck groaned and quickly removed his own shirt. His hands slid to Rachel's sides and he picked her up, sitting her back down on the dresser.

He wasted no time, his movements almost as frantic as they'd been the previous night, and his hands were suddenly everywhere. After parting her legs wide and propping them up on either side of his hips on the edge of the dresser, his fingers found their way to her damp flesh, sliding between her folds, and she buckled, crying out as she fell back onto her elbows on the dresser. Puck pressed his index finger against her clit as he looked down at her body. Her trim thighs were splayed open and she was wet. _So _wet. "God, Rachel… You're so gorgeous. Fucking dripping, too."

Rachel shuddered and grasped at his shoulders, her eyes fluttering closed at the intense sensation of his finger working inside her body. Puck bent down, his forehead against hers, and murmured, "Do you always get this wet when I'm around, Rachel? Because I've barely fucking touched you in hours and you're already soaked."

Rachel shook her head, panting as his eyes implored her to answer. "Yes, God, yes. I feel myself throbbing whenever you're around. I know I should have more self control but last night and then again this morning were both amazing and I can't stop thinking about it and…ahhh—" Her thoughts were fractured when Puck scissored his fingers and then twisted them to press against the sensitive patch deep inside her.

After three quick pumps of his fingers, Puck pulled away from her, sliding out of her body. He chuckled when she let out a grumble of protest and, to reward her, he licked a broad stripe across one nipple, into the valley between her breasts, and over to the other nipple. He lifted his eyes toward her as his lips sucked the hardening peak between his teeth. His fingers traveled over the flesh of her thighs again before he slipping inside her again. "So wet for me," he groaned against her ear. "God, I love how soaked you are, baby."

Rachel bucked her hips, working to take him deeper inside her, and groaned in frustration because it just wasn't enough. Puck bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her, their tongues fighting for dominance, as he inserted a second finger inside her wet channel. Rachel jerked her head away to gasp and then cry out and Puck's eyes dropped, watching the red flush creep across her breasts.

"Did you ever know how much I wanted you in high school?" His voice was low, his eyes on her face has his fingers drilled inside her, his thumb circling her clit.

"You…you did?" Rachel panted.

Pucks' free hand circled Rachel's wrist and he guided her fingers down, moving his thumb so that she could rub her own clit. "Fuck, _yes_, babe." Puck's mind went momentarily blank as he watched Rachel's fingers dance over her slit, bumping his hand that was still working inside her, before sliding back up to press hard against her clit. Puck dragged his eyes away from her body and looked at her face again. "When you were dating Finn… We didn't talk much because he was so goddamn jealous. Remember?"

Rachel's head bobbed, her lips open, as his fingers curled inside her. She jerked against the onslaught of pleasure, her free hand finding her nipple to pluck and tug in a search for even more intense pleasure than she was already feeling.

"I used to imagine that you would finally get pissed at him and then you'd hunt me down after practice. You'd admit that you hated staying away from me and then…you let me fuck you in the locker room." Puck gave her a leering smile. "I'd spread you out in the middle of the fucking floor and just _pound_ you. And I always imagined that you were so fucking loud when you came that we'd get caught." Puck shuddered at the memory. "_Fuck_, I used to come _so hard_ thinking about what I'd do to you."

Heat sizzled through Rachel's body as she pictured the scene Puck had described. Her breath was leaving her body in short, irregular bursts as her fingers rubbed furiously against her clit while he moved his own longer, thicker digits inside her. Puck watched her lips part and her eyes close, her thighs trembling more with each passing second and then he asked, low and throaty, "And you're gonna come for me now, aren't you? Fuck _yes_, you are."

The fire in her lower back was spreading so fast that Rachel wanted to cry out, to warn Puck that she as about to erupt, but the words wouldn't form on her lips. Instead, she pressed hard against her clit, arched her hips up off the dresser, and let out a scratchy, throaty, "Ohhh," as her inner walls rippled and clenched around his fingers.

Puck continued his assault on her body, pressing kisses against her face as he encouraged her. "That's right, baby. Just like that. Come for me. I love to watch you come."

Rachel slumped forward against Puck's shoulder, desperate to catch her breath as her body still quaked around him. When he removed his fingers, he slid his hand up and dragged them across her breasts and then bent to kiss her lips. Rachel tilted her head back, her hands carding through his hair as they locked eyes. He stared at her intently even as she felt him shifting and then heard his zipper slide down. Her eyes fluttered closed and she listened to the sound of a package being torn open and then heard the sound of Puck's throaty grunt as he rolled the condom down over his erection before she felt the thick, heavy weight of his sex press against her thigh. The moment the blunt head nudged at her clit, her head fell back against the wall and her legs parted wider. She heard Puck mumble, "Fuck, yes," and then he plunged himself inside her to the hilt. Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck, using his shoulders as leverage as she pushed back against him as hard as she could. And when he slowed his furious thrusting just enough to tenderly kiss her, Rachel felt a little piece of herself snap. But then he picked up again, his words dirty and his movement rapid, and she lost herself to him in more ways than one.

…

When Rachel woke the next morning, she heard the sound of Puck's voice, low and professional sounding, on the other side of the room. She lazily stretched, her body sinking further into the plush mattress, and then she rolled onto her side and watched as he finished his conversation. When he ended the call, he tossed the phone down onto the table and stalked back toward her, climbing in behind her and tugging her back against him.

After peppering her bare shoulder with kisses, he said, "That was my probation officer. Checking in. Told her our destination was LA and that we were planning on staying."

Rachel's face showed concern. "Is she okay with that?"

"Yup," Puck said. "Just as long as I'm staying sober and not getting into any trouble."

Thinking back to the bar fight, Rachel snickered. "I guess what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?"

Puck grinned at her and tugged her until she was straddling him. "Exactly," he answered before pulling her head down into a kiss. Rachel eyeballed the clock quickly, realized they had two hours until they had to checkout, and melted against him. She already couldn't imagine letting this go.

* * *

Five hours after finally checking out of their hotel room, Rachel and Puck were nearing the outskirts of Los Angeles. They'd had a pleasant trip with no bad weather and the sun baking down on them as they drove. Puck was eyeballing a map in between periodically staring at the traffic that was never-ending in front of them.

"Where do we stop, Noah? I have no idea! I've never been to LA. What if we end up staying in a shady establishment? They have gangs in LA, you know? Big, violent, blood-thirsty ones!"

Puck smirked at the concern and worry in Rachel's voice. "Babe, you lived in New York City. That place is fucking scary. I think you'll be fine here." He dropped his eyes to the map again quickly before nodding. "Let's get off at the next exit and find a hotel. We'll get situated today and then figure shit out tonight, okay?"

Rachel looked between him and the road before silently nodding. Puck watched her chew her bottom lip and tap her fingers nervously against the steering wheel, nervousness evident in the tenseness of her shoulders and the erectness of her spine.

Sliding his hand across the console, he dropped it to her knee and squeezed. "S'gonna be okay, Rach. Everything is gonna work out. I promise."

Rachel took a deep breath and then nodded, flashing him a smile full of brilliant white teeth. "I know it is."

* * *

**Next up:** Final chapter! (After I write fill an awesome prompt I found over at the drabble meme, that is!)


	10. Chapter 10

Eight Months Later

If there was one thing Rachel hated about Los Angeles, it was the traffic. She didn't mind the fact that everyone was self-obsessed because, to an extent, she was, too. The smog irritated her but there was nothing she could do about it so she installed a small air purifier in the apartment and moved on. She certainly didn't mind the weather and hadn't found any real reason yet to miss the cold and snow that she was so accustomed to. The earthquakes that she'd heard about while growing up in Ohio weren't that bad either (so far.) They were usually minor and over jut as fast as they'd started. She really thought she was adapting to life in California quite easily. But the traffic. She _hated _the traffic.

By the time Rachel made it back to the tiny apartment she called home, she was exhausted and irritable. Her apron smelled like greasy French fry oil and the smell turned her stomach. But, she supposed, that came with the territory when she was a waitress at a diner known throughout the city for it's spectacular fries. Adding to her frustration was the fact that it was unseasonably warm for April in Los Angeles and the wispy tendrils of hair at the side of her face stuck to her skin.

It had been a long shift at the restaurant and by the time Rachel unlocked the door and pushed inside the small apartment, she was ready to drop. The hum of the air conditioner greeted her and her entire body seemed to sigh as it welcomed the cool darkness that made up the tiny front room.

Rachel tossed her keys on the bar that divided the kitchen and living room and kicked off her shoes as she removed her apron and threw it into the laundry basket that was waiting by the door to be taken to the Laundromat. She eyed the clock on the microwave as she cut through the kitchen, discarding her shirt and bra along the way. By the time she made it to the bed, she was just in her panties. Within seconds of climbing beneath the cool sheets, she drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

The light was pink and waning when she awoke again. Rachel noticed the other side of the bed give way and then she felt two arms encircle her. Sighing happily into the embrace, Rachel scooted back against her boyfriend of eight months. "How was your day?" she asked sleepily.

Puck nipped her bare shoulder with his teeth and let his open palms graze against her rapidly pebbling nipples as he sighed. "Another day. Got another new client at the gym. He's some dude that was on some TV show way back in the 90s. He tried the, 'Don't you know who I am?' bullshit on me but I just ignored him. He's fat. He needs to work out. That's all I give a fuck about. His show probably sucked anyway."

Rachel laughed softly as she turned in his arms to face him, nuzzling her nose against his neck for a moment while she quietly inhaled his scent. "And how was AA?"

"I got my chip today," he said, reaching into his pocket with his free hand and removing the small, blue metal coin. He pressed it into her hand and waited as she turned the coin over and over, her eyes sliding over the big, bold _6 MONTHS_ printed on the surface, and then she grinned at him.

"I'm so proud of you," she said, handing the coin back to him and then curling her arms around his neck. Puck pressed her back against the sheets, gazing down at her wide eyes, before dipping his head to kiss her.

Six months of total sobriety. He wasn't proud of the last time he'd gotten drunk. They'd been in LA for two months and they'd been fighting over money and after she'd gone to sleep, he got back out of bed and snuck the whole bottle of JD that he'd been hiding. When she woke up the next morning, she'd found him passed out and then she'd been so furious that she left him for two days. For the first 24 hours, he told himself that he didn't give a fuck. He was gonna mess up his life regardless so why bring down Rachel, too? But then the next day, the apartment was too quiet and it didn't smell like her shampoo and lotion and he just really fucking missed her. She finally answered his calls that day and it wasn't until he promised that he'd start AA immediately that she agreed to come back to him. The loss of her had only been temporary but it had been enough to force him to stop saying he was okay with handling the drinking thing on his own. And once he got over the fact that the meetings could get uncomfortable and emotional, AA was actually kinda cool. He'd learned how to deal with his urges and he had a sponsor he could call whenever he felt weak. And Rachel was proud of him. If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that she was what mattered most, anyway.

Rachel nudged his shoulder and pulled his focus back to the present, kissing him on the side of his mouth before shaking her head and saying, "Don't think about it. It's all in the past. I'm _so _proud of you!"

Puck kissed her gently and then asked, "D'you hear about the audition yet?"

The smile slid from Rachel's face and was replaced with a scowl. "Not a word. Three callbacks and now I just wait? I'm going completely _insane_, Noah! I nearly snapped at a customer today because her ketchup bottle was empty and she wanted more. I _depend _on customers for tips. I can't be rude but oh my goodness, would it _kill _these casting agents to make a timely decision? I feel like my entire future is hanging in the balance."

Grinning at her while she had her mini-tirade, Puck waited until she took a breath and asked, "Are you finished, baby? Because when I walked into the apartment, your phone was ringing. It was probably just your dads but it _could _have been one of those assholes you're waiting on, right?"

Rachel perked up, pushing Puck off her so that she could go find her phone. Laughing, he watched her go and then called out after her, "I'll be in the shower!"

Once she was gone, Puck pulled his shit over his head and shoved down his pants and boxers, walking naked to the bathroom. He felt grimy after a long day of dealing with sweating complainers at the gym and once his shift was over, he'd had a heavy workout himself before heading to AA.

The water came on and Puck stepped under the spray, closing his eyes as the slightly chilled water hit his face. He thought her heard Rachel squeal from the next room and he grinned into the water, hoping that she had gotten the voicemail she'd been waiting on. She'd put up with _so_ much shit – from her failure in New York to her fathers' disappointment to having to deal with the stupid bullshit he'd put her through – that she deserved to get this part.

Just as he was finishing soaping up, the thin shower curtain was yanked open and Rachel was propelling herself into his arms, completely uncaring that she was now getting soaked by the shower spray. "Noah! It's mine! The part is _mine_! I can't believe it!"

Puck grabbed her around the waist and spun her around, pressing her against the shower wall. He pushed his lips against her in a smacking, wet kiss before pulling away and dropping her down to her feet again. Rachel looked at him, her eyes huge and shining. "Next week! I have to be on set next week! And it's not just for one episode, Noah! It's for an eight episode story arc!" Rachel's voice rose as she spoke and by the time she was done, she'd reached a high-pitched octave and she was bouncing up and down on her toes, her fingers digging into his forearms.

Puck stared at her, stunned. "Wait… what? I thought it was just that one episode… You went in, said a few funny lines, sang a song, and that was it?"

Rachel let out a happy squeal and Puck took the opportunity to slide the shower off so that they could talk.

Rachel shook her head. "I know! Me, too! But the writers loved the dynamic so much and thought it would be better to write it as an ongoing battle between Lola and Evelyn and so, between the time I auditioned originally and now, they changed it! And it's _all mine_!"

Letting go of Puck, Rachel bounced out of the shower and then looked down. "Oh my God, I need a towel! And some clothes!"

Puck laughed at her enthusiasm as she disappeared into the bedroom and came back a minute later in a pair of pajama shorts and one of his t-shirts. He licked his lips automatically, loving the way she filled out his soft, grey shirt in a way he (thankfully) never could. She finished dabbing a towel at her hair and then threw it at him, watching as he stepped out and rubbed away the water from his skin. Once he was dry, he dropped the towel and padded toward her naked.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she tucked her head against his chest and said, "I'm sorry I interrupted your shower! I tried to wait but I couldn't."

Puck shook his head, kissing her forehead. "Don't care. This is awesome! So tell me… will you get to sing more than one song now?"

Grinning, Rachel let go of Puck, linking her fingers with his to tug him toward the kitchen. Puck stopped her long enough to snag a clean pair of boxer-briefs out of the tiny, second-hand dresser they shared. After sliding them on, he allowed her tiny body to drag his large one into the kitchen and watched as she pulled two cans of soda from the fridge, tossing him one and popping the top on hers. He pulled out one bar stool for her and one for himself, sitting down so she could fill him in on the part she'd just landed.

"I don't know. They said I'll get the scripts for the next two episodes on Monday. And I have to meet with Mandy because we're apparently doing a duet later on in the arc and…" Rachel stopped, staring at Puck with a look of shock in her eyes. "Noah, I just realized that I'm going to be on network TV! I'm going to be _singing_ on network television. How is this even happening to me?"

Puck grinned. "Because you're fucking talented and we live in Hollywood, baby. I _told _you this place would be good for you. Fucking _told _you."

Rachel couldn't even be annoyed at the smug look on his face because he was so completely right. Shaking her head, she said, "I just can't imagine that it only took a few auditions. And granted, it's not like I need a publicist or anything yet but Noah, this is a primetime, network TV show where I not only get to act _but _sing. And I'm starring opposite Mandy Moore! How in the world… I just…" A stunned look settled over Rachel's face. "I can't even…"

"Does this mean I have to start watching that show now? It's such a chick show," Puck whined playfully. The show, in its second season on ABC, starred former pop actress Mandy Moore as a washed-up rock star who was now too old to make it in the music industry but not yet ready to retire. It was one of the first shows to successfully incorporate music and actors breaking into song regularly. Puck had thought the whole thing was weird but Rachel had assured him that it was the closest possible thing to being on Broadway except that it was on television.

"Not only do you have to _watch_ the show," she said with a sly grin, "but you're going to have to go to the award show with me when I win an Emmy for Best Guest Actress in a Comedy."

Puck let out a laugh and outstretched his arms, pulling Rachel against him. "Now there's the determined woman I love."

Rachel lifted her head, her eyes wide. They'd never approached the "l" word since they'd been together but suddenly, there it was. When Puck didn't take it back and just stared down at her, his breath obviously hitched, Rachel let out a yelp and hugged him tightly, whispering "Me, too" into his neck.

After holding onto her just long enough to feel like a sappy douchebag, Puck unwound her arms from his neck. "Get dressed, baby. We're going to celebrate. You pick the place and it's on me."

Rachel bit her lip and shook her head. "We can stay in. We have plenty of groceries and I can easily cook something. We can't afford it and we really, really should save money."

Shaking his head, Puck pushed Rachel toward the bedroom. "Nope, baby. You're about to be a huge star. We can afford _one_ dinner to celebrate."

Grinning, Rachel nodded. "Well, _okay,_ I _do _really do love that little Thai place in Venice Beach. Can we go there?"

"Sure, baby. Get dressed and we'll go."

Puck slipped on some clothes while Rachel disappeared into the bathroom. When she came out minutes later, she linked her fingers with Puck's and they left the apartment together. As they climbed into the car, Rachel asked, "Noah? Do you really think I'm about to be a star?"

Laughing, Puck threw the car into reverse and shook his head. "Of fucking course."

Rachel bit her lip and looked out the window, happiness welling up inside her. No, LA wasn't New York and her life wasn't what like she'd planned at all. But once Puck dropped his hand onto her knee and squeezed it as he drove down the street, Rachel decided that no amount of planning for life could actually beat living it. And all it took to make it all come together was a simple road trip with a friend.

_**-End-**_


End file.
